HEY everyone! again, sorry for the late timing... :(( i understand i've lost quite a few readers this way. I hope that those of you who do read will review it! it really makes my day better, even if to give constructive criticism. I'll take anything at this point.


Robb's POV

Robb cursed all the gods. Why, he didn't know. But he cursed himself as well. He was a coward, an idiot, ashamed. He felt dirty going from his intended to his lover, with neither of them knowledgeable. Robb had planned on telling Myrcella about his betrothal before the official announcement. But when he had seen her, he only wanted to kiss her. And she had wanted him. More than she'd ever shown him, and it had caught him off guard. Instead of thinking of his bride, the beautiful and intelligent, noble and loved Margaery Tyrell, he spent all his spare time thinking of a girl with lighter hair and a disgraced name.

Jon would scold him, he knew it. Theon would mock his agony, count him lucky to have two beautiful women. And his father would be disappointed. He saw that look in Sansa's eyes as well, more often than he would like. It would be the same if she knew.

Robb wasn't an entire idiot. The problem for others wasn't so much that the King would look elsewhere than his marriage bed for company. The problem was that the King was a Stark and the company was a Baratheon princess turned Lannister bastard. He knew Sansa and his mother would tell him it was dangerous. He knew they'd be right. If Myrcella were to birth his bastard, what type of claim could he lay onto the throne rightfully belonging to Margaery's children?

But that part only occupied a small part of Robb's mind. He had been raised to be honourable. He had been raised to respect his wife and feel affection for her only. He had watched his parents' loving marriage and been taught to want the same. And then he had to consider Margaery and Myrcella. Margaery would be slighted. Maybe all the Tyrells would be slighted if they knew Robb rather spent his time in the woods with another girl. Angering the Tyrells so early in their alliance was not an intelligent move. But Myrcella. Maybe she'd refuse to be his lover if he were to marry. She'd be too proud and reject him, and maybe all his troubles would be mended before they'd truly start. The thought stung.

The truth was that Robb was a king, but he had never truly loved before. He'd been with girls, yes. It was easy with girls at Winterfell. He'd smile and they'd giggle and that'd be that. Whether it was the cook's niece or a visiting lord's daughter, Robb had never been through much trouble to meet in deserted hallways at night for a quick kiss. But even if he'd spent a night with them, a week daydreaming about them or months eyeing them, those feelings had been nothing compared to his time with Myrcella. He felt like a boy with a crown on his head. Ridiculous.

Robb was on his way to see her again. It was dawn, the hallways were empty and he wore a hood. Sometimes, he wondered if Varys knew. Probably. But as long as he was the only one, he did not care.

Robb knocked lightly on the door of her chambers. He knew she recognized the sound of the knock. But instead of arriving within 10 seconds, he spent a minute waiting at the door. When she opened, she couldn't manage to force a smile. She looked grey. Her eyes hollow, her lips dry and her skin pale.

"Are you all right?"

"I think… I think I'm sick." She coughed, hard. "It hurts."

Robb approached her, worried.

"No," she said, taking a step back. "You shouldn't catch it."

"I don't care," he replied, crossing the distance between them and holding her. She was indeed very hot. Her hair was sweaty and she shuddered in her thin nightgown.

"It's cold. Close the door." Robb obliged and lead her to her bed, sitting down next to her.

"Is Tommen with ser Arys?"

"Yes. They practice at dawn every day."

"He's not sick?"

She shook her head. "It started yesterday evening. He was already sleeping. He hasn't seen me since."

"Good." Robb rose. "Where's your handmaiden? She needs to take care of you." He wet a towel in a bowl of water, placing it on her forehead.

"I don't have a handmaiden anymore," Myrcella replied.

"Oh. I'll get you one."

"Don't. It's suspicious." She broke out in another cough, this one more violent.

"I don't care. You need a handmaiden. I'll go get Patrek and he'll have someone assign one to you."

"Handmaidens laugh at me. I don't want one in my own chambers. Beside, they could spy on us." The words came out slower than before, as if every syllable required a great deal of energy.

"I'll send for the maester then."

"Maesters are for the highborn." Myrcella coughed again, and Robb could see a tear fall down her cheek. Her voice was weakening.

"Healers. I'll send for healers." Robb wanted to rise, but her hand pulled at his sleeve.

"I've been dreaming all night," she said barely louder than a whisper. Her voice sounded like nothing he'd ever heard from her before.

"Dreaming? What about?"

Myrcella's eyes were wandering about the ceiling as if she was looking right through it. "My mother. My neck. Sand. Lots and lots of sand." Her words worried Robb. She was dangerously unwell.

As Myrcella mumbled words he couldn't understand while closing her eyes, Robb slipped away to find Patrek at his chambers' door, where he had left him.

"Myrcella's sick," he said, agitated. "She needs a healer."

Patrek's eyes widened.

"Go get one."

"If a King's Guard personally sends for a healer for the girl, people will ask questions."

"Tell them the King orders Myrcella to be cared for. It would be dishonourable to leave her be regardless of what's going on. What if she died? She, the former princess? Don't you think people would find that suspicious too?"

Patrek looked displeased at the situation, but nodded. "I'll have it taken care of. You calm down. Anyone could see you like this. And you have to meet the lady Margaery to go hawking, remember? The boat ride was cancelled. The sea is restless."

Robb groaned. Patrek was right. The last thing he wanted to do was act charming with his future wife. "I want you to send someone with updates on her state."

"I will. I'm taking care of it, Robb. Compose yourself, now. She'll be fine. She's young and strong."

Robb nodded and focused on his breathing. She would indeed be fine.


Sansa's POV

She was sitting in the gardens, while Tamsy had been writing a list of names Sansa dictated. The girl wrote slowly, as she had only recently learned how to, but Sansa was patient. They had discussed the appointment of ladies-in-waiting for Sansa. It had been strange, Sansa realized, that her father hadn't appointed ladies-in-waiting for her when she first came to King's Landing. She had had Jeyne Poole, though, until she disappeared during Ned Stark's betrayal. Sansa hoped she was alive, well and would accompany Sansa to Dorne if Tamsy could manage to establish contact. Sansa hoped for Alla Tyrell as well, whom she had befriended before her wedding to Jaime, and assumed Margaery would agree to set Alla free of her duties as Margaery's lady-in-waiting if Sansa asked. She had an army of ladies and could spare one.

A visitor arrived, blocking Sansa's view over the fountain. "My princess. Will you do me the pleasure of your company for a garden walk?"

Sansa stared at Oberyn. He looked particularly good today, in the sun, with a warm rather than a cocky smile. It took her a while to snap out of her rude staring.

"Of course, prince Oberyn," she replied with a smile, standing up, smoothing out her blue dress. Torhen wanted to follow her, but Sansa discreetly shook her head.

They walked through the royal gardens towards the cliffs while she held his arm. She wasn't paying much attention to the walk. The sun was shining down on them and she squinted her eyes.

Oberyn smiled. "You're not very used to the sun, are you?"

"I've been in King's Landing for years," she replied. "But I'm not made for it, no."

"The Dornish sun isn't like the sun here. It burns quickly. The air is dry."

"I suppose I'll get used to it overtime," Sansa said.

"We get used to everything overtime."

She didn't reply. She still felt quite bitter about everything. But more calm and accepting. Sansa was a woman and it was her fate to undergo. She had known it for a long time.

Oberyn stopped in his tracks, causing her to do the same. "Sansa- can I call you Sansa? Let us be candid with each other. I know you didn't expect to marry again so soon. To leave your newly found family already. Go farther from home than you've ever been. I know that. You might've preferred Highgarden, or the Vale with their younger suitors and more chivalrous ways. But- I think you can be happy in Dorne. It's different than what you're used to. But it's more... You'll be free. To do what you want, to go where you want, to surround yourself with whomever. I promise."

Sansa looked at Oberyn. For once, he had dropped his witty persona and tried to make her feel comfortable. She could tell he was a kind man. That was good. But Joffrey had seemed kind, at first, too. And this one had a reputation for hot-bloodedness.

"I'm a lady," she replied. "I shall never be free."

Oberyn didn't answer. She had heard how he raised his daughters. Apparently, they could learn to fight, and they weren't forced to marry if they didn't choose. It sounded promising, but Sansa had learned not to expect anything anymore. And she was a Stark, not a Sand.

Sansa continued the interrupted walk, and Oberyn followed. They continued quietly for a while. At the edge of the cliff, they stopped, overlooking a lower, wilder part of the garden. Through the trees, Sansa could see Grey Wind running. She leaned over the balcony, smiling, watching him. Oberyn did the same.

"He's fearsome," he remarked.

"He's beautiful."

"And the most famous beast in the Seven Kingdoms. Or infamous, depending on your perspective."

"I remember the court whispering about him. The great beast that ripped dozens of throats open at every battle. They said Robb fed Grey Wind Stafford Lannister's heart. I enjoyed it."

Oberyn grinned. "I've heard that too. I was quite impressed. And then I arrived here. He has a threatening presence."

"Yes… Quite unlike Lady."

"Lady? Was that your wolf?"

Sansa turned around, leaning her back against the balcony. "Grey Wind's littermate. Lady was the smallest. The most elegant. Calm, as well. Trusting."

"And they killed her," Oberyn said, apparently aware. His voice was nice, she realized.

"My father killed her. And I blamed my sister." Sansa looked down, remembering the day. It seemed so long ago. So frivolous. "The queen commanded it."

"I am sorry," Oberyn replied.

Sansa looked at him. "It's alright. She would've been butchered here the night my father was imprisoned. They couldn't have a direwolf guarding their hostage, could they? She had a better death at the hands of my father."

Oberyn looked at her. She smiled, closing the topic. "Trystane loved hearing about Robb Stark and his direwolf on the battlefield."

"He did?"

"Yes. So did my daughters. Regardless of allegiance, your brother has become quite a respectable myth. Although it's not hard to earn more respect than Joffrey."

Sansa grinned. "Joffrey was never near a battlefield. Even Jaime found him ridiculous."

"Hard to imagine they were father and son."

Sansa didn't reply. Instead, she looked over the cliffs, to the sea, east. Where Jaime was. Somewhere.

Oberyn seemed to know what she was thinking. "You were married to the Kingslayer. I won't presume to know what that was like. But I hope I, or Trystane, can outdo him."

Sansa wanted to say it shouldn't be hard, but she realized she didn't mean it. Jaime was with Cersei most of the time, and Oberyn would be with Ellara. And if she did choose Trystane, he could still be heartbroken over Myrcella. She was the princess of the Seven Kingdoms and she seemed doomed to spend her life in the shadow of other women.

"For your information, prince Oberyn, I don't prefer Harry the Heir. He's a pompous fool. As for Willas – you know him better than I do. Now, if you'll escort me to my chambers, I'd be grateful for your company."


Robb's POV

When Robb found Margaery in the stables she looked the most excited he'd ever seen her.

"Your grace!" she called out upon seeing him. She was fully dressed for hawking, supposedly one of her favorite activities. Margaery beamed energetically, unable to contain herself. Robb remembered septa Mordane telling Sansa and Arya that a lady should never run and always compose herself. But even Margaery, the perfect lady, seemed to forget it.

"Robb, please," he replied, approaching her. She stood next to a brown horse. It was strange to him how her excited demeanor contrasted with Myrcella's health, and managed to cloud his troubles, even if just for a little bit. "Is this the horse you've been appointed?"

"Yes. I haven't ridden him yet. I can't seem to find a perfect horse, here. The one I had in Highgarden, Cordelia, has recently died and I haven't found one I connect with as well ever since."

"You called her Cordelia?" Robb asked, amused.

Margaery grinned. "I named her when I was 9."

"I like it. I don't really name my horses."

"You don't?"

"3 of them died during the war. It's easier to lose an unnamed horse."

"Well. The war is over, now. The next one you could name."

Robb nodded. It felt strange to think the war was truly over. "You'll help me."

She smiled and was helped up the horse. Robb mounted his horse as well. As they reached the mew where the falcons were held, closer to the forest, Robb found Grey Wind waiting.

"How did he know?" Margaery asked, surprised.

"He just knows."

The falcon master approached, greeting them. It was arranged he'd accompany them, so he could give Robb his very first lesson. As a northerner, Robb had never been taught the art of falconry. And since he had Grey Wind, he had never even thought of it.

Margaery's falcon was brought. "I've grown attached to this one," she said. His brown feathers had a red glow and his yellow eye pierced Robb's. "I've called him Symeon."

"The star-eyed knight," Robb said. He smiled at the memory of Old Nan telling him the legend.

"Yes," Margaery replied. She looked proud. "My brother Willas is very fond of falcons. He breeds the very best. I've been forced to know everything about them."

Robb grinned. "I look forward to meeting him."


Myrcella's POV

A small hand was holding hers when Myrcella woke up from her sleep. She tried to open her eyes, but they felt very dry, and the light was too harsh. She pinched into the hand, that pinched back in comfort, and after a while she could make out the lines of the face leaning over her.

"There, my lord," the maester said, addressing the person holding her hand.

Myrcella looked over to her right and saw her uncle Tyrion at her bedside. He smiled at her, but she didn't have the energy to smile back. Her brain was barely processing her surroundings.

The maester left the room, leaving Myrcella alone with her uncle.

"You're feeling better?" he asked.

Myrcella looked at Tyrion. Her eyes went around the room, analyzing if anything had changed. She now remembered Robb being the last voice she heard, after he had come to her chambers in the early morning. "How did you know?" Her voice was raspy, she heard.

Tyrion looked at her, with one of his looks that said he already figured everything out. "I've been told by a little bird you asked for my presence. When I arrived, you didn't open the door. I found you sick in your bed, mumbling feverish words. So I had the maester attend to you."

"The maester is for the highborn."

"I am lord Tyrion, head of house Lannister, and the maester is here to obey."

Myrcella didn't reply. Her mouth was dry and Tyrion could tell, handing her a cup of water.

"What time is it?" she asked.

"It's the afternoon. You were very sick but not for a long time. The maester says you replied well to his treatment and we're lucky he caught it early enough."

Myrcella felt very tired and weak, but her mind was getting clearer, as if every gulp of water brought life back into her. "Where's Tommen?"

"He sat here for hours. I sent him away but he'll return soon, no doubt."

Myrcella nodded slightly, looking away. The last face she saw before falling into her restless sleep had been Robb's. she wondered where he was.

"Myrcella," Tyrion said, his tone alerting. "Can you tell me why king Robb wanted me to find you sick?"

She was stunned. She looked at her uncle, looking patiently at her but reading her every expression. It made her nervous, her face betraying that she didn't feel indifferent to it.

"What are you talking about?" she attempted.

"I was alerted by a little bird to go to your room when you were sick. I had Bronn ask this little bird who told him to do that. He said it was ser Patrek of the King's Guard. So, I ask of you, why would ser Patrek want me to find you, coincidentally when you were at grave risk? How did he know?"

In normal circumstances, Myrcella would turn or walk away, but as she was lying sick and weak in her bed, she felt disarmed, her uncle staring at her. Her mind was too slow to not fall prey to her nerves and she knew he could read every flinch.

"I don't – I don't know."

"Robb Stark is at the moment returning from his hawking trip with Margaery Tyrell. Someone is updating him on whichever matter hourly. What could that matter be?"

Myrcella flinched at the mention of Margaery. He was hawking with her? While she was lying in her bed, sick? She knew it could be suspicious of him to refuse his engagements because she was sick. But she'd expected him to keep busy with matters of state.

"He's a king. Kings are busy." Every word she uttered was unbelievable, which is why she tried to keep as silent as possible.

"Myrcella. Is something going on between you and the king?"

She opened her mouth, and closed it again. Tyrion's eyes widened, and he rose from his chair.

"I knew it," he said, pacing around the room. "I hoped, maybe, you were just seeing ser Patrek. But the king?"

Myrcella was exasperated. "Hush!" she said. She was angry at herself for not lying, claiming to be Patrek's immediately rather than Robb's. Her mind hadn't been quick enough.

Tyrion checked every door and window, looking for little birds spying. When the coast was confirmed clear, he edged closer to her bed again.

"I didn't… I didn't mean to. It just happened."

Tyrion's closed his eyes and shook his head. She didn't know if he looked disappointed or just incredulous, but she wanted it to be over.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. I know I shouldn't. I know they're our enemies. Mother would hate me-"

"Myrcella," Tyrion hissed, getting more aggravated. "By all the gods, why didn't you tell me earlier?! He's a Stark, Myrcella. You land in his bed, you marry him the next morning. It could've changed everything."

She looked at him, stunned. He wasn't angry at her for being with Robb. He was angry she didn't profit from it. But why did he say change? What could've changed? "I don't want that," Myrcella replied distantly, her mind going over his words.

"You don't want to marry the King?"

She wanted it. With all her heart. But she wasn't an idiot. She had always known it to be impossible. At some point he'd need a strong ally for a wife. "I don't want to…trick Robb into making a bad decision."

"Everyone is trying to trick him."

"I don't want to."

Tyrion looked at her, stopping in his tracks. "Do you… love him?" he asked with a scoff.

Myrcella looked away. She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the headboard. "I do."

Her uncle remained silent for a while, but she felt it was only to let her rest. "Well, whether he loves yo-"

"He does," she cut in defiantly.

"or not," he continued with the same momentum, his eyes dismissing her words. "It is irrelevant now."

"How is that irrelevant?"

Tyrion shrugged. "He'll just have to get over it, grow out of it. Or hide it, at the very least. His wedding date has been set."

"Wedding?"