A/N: Thanks for your support.
Our Blades Are Sharp
By Spectre4hire
51: Myrcella
"Lord Stark." She curtsied when the Lord of Winterfell turned in his chair to her.
"Myrcella," He greeted her in a tone that was neither kind nor unkind. His grey eyes looked at her, but conveyed nothing of what he was thinking.
"I bring news." She hovered just inside his room. "There has been fighting in the Riverlands." She noticed him tense, but his gaze moved away from her and back towards where he was staring before her arrival-the glowing embers of the hearth.
"Your sons are safe."
His shoulders sagged in relief. "That is good news." His voice was gruff. "I only wish that they were safe at Winterfell."
Myrcella gave him a sympathetic smile even though he could not see it. She sat down across from him, but he made no move to turn to her. He seemed more concerned with looking at other places in the room then herself. She felt a sting in her chest at his neglect.
Of course he hates you, a voice whispered to her. Your brother threw him in the Black Cells.
"Have you been getting enough to eat, my lord?"
"I have," He answered stiffly, "Your work?" His head tilted slightly so that he could see her from over his shoulder.
"Yes, I just want to make sure that you are well."
"It is kind of you, but unnecessary." His words were polite, but there was a dismissiveness to his tone.
She did not move. "It is necessary." This was not the first time she received this reception from him or those words, but she could not crumble.
"You spoke of battles." He said after a pause.
"Yes," she confirmed, "We've received word of a few battles." All Lannister defeats, but she did not say that just yet.
He frowned, slowly moving in his seat so that she had his full attention. "I'd like to hear what you know."
Myrcella smothered the smile that wanted to escape at this small triumph she finally experienced with him. There had been so few, but each one she treasured. Hoping it'd lead to another, with each one coming more swiftly than the one previous.
"I will tell you what I know, Lord Stark, but I fear I'm no soldier or general."
He nodded, but showed her nothing else besides casual interest in what she had to tell him.
"Robb fooled my Grandfather and Uncle and earned two decisive victories in the Riverlands," Myrcella grappled at the news, and still was undecided what she should feel upon hearing it. Her family was losing. However, Robb was her betrothed, who had treated her better than Joffrey. The Starks in their limited time with her treated her better than her mother ever did.
A rare smile showed itself on Lord Stark's solemn face. His grey eyes shimmered in pride, but he made no attempt to comment or ask for more. He seemed content to wait, and reflect on the glad tidings of his son's safety, and his victories.
Myrcella remembered Joffrey's reaction to the news. She had been attending court when an unlucky messenger was brought forward with the dire news out of the Riverlands. Joffrey had cursed the north, calling them ungodly savages, until he was red in the face. The onlookers at court watched silently, too afraid at receiving the king's ire if he were to notice them.
"In the Battle of the Whispering Wood, my Uncle Jaime was captured." She noticed something in Lord Stark's eyes at the mention of her Uncle. She wasn't certain what it meant, until a thought came to her-He sees his freedom. He sees an exchange between Uncle Jaime and himself.
Now, that she saw that, she hoped for something else-a peace. A chance to end this fighting between their families. They were to be united by blood with her and Robb's union. Her father's hope and legacy at trying to intertwine the houses of Baratheon and Stark.
Not just my father's hope, she prayed everyday for it- An escape from this city, from her brother.
"Your other son is making a name for himself as well, Lord Stark," She pushed on. "Jon Snow earned himself a knighthood."
"Jon, a knight?" He repeated, dismayed at the news.
"Yes, my lord," she confirmed. "It is said he killed the Mountain."
"Truly?"
"Yes."
Just like with Robb, Lord Stark took the news with a proud gleam and a small smile. "My sons are no longer the boys, I remember," he said wistfully. "Sparring with Ser Roderick, they were so eager and competitive against each other," His eyes glossy, lost in past memories, "But they always helped each other back up when knocked down. In the end, it was never about the victories for them, but in trying to be better so they could look after one another." He was proud of them, "The Pack is strongest when together."
Myrcella felt a pang of longing in her chest at what Lord Stark described. A strong family, siblings that loved and looked after one another. She tried her best with Tommen, but she feared she wasn't doing it well enough. He still feared Joffrey. He was still hurt by Mother's neglect. There was only so much she could do in the face of such family turmoil.
Lord Stark's voice cut through her thoughts. "I had hoped they wouldn't see war, and their only concerns would be raising children and preparing for the winters to come." He frowned. "Now they're leaders and knights, fighting and killing," he looked down at his hands that were resting on the table, "For me." He whispered.
He sat in stony silence for several heartbeats before eventually raising his head and meeting her gaze with cold grey eyes. "I'd like to be alone now, my lady."
"Of course, my lord," Myrcella detected an ire within him. She didn't believe it was directed at her, but thought it was best to respect his wishes and leave. She gave him a curtsey which he did not acknowledge. She slipped out of the room after that. The last thing she saw was Lord Stark glaring and frowning at the seat she had left.
"Princess," Arys was affable in his greeting. Her sworn shield had waited patiently outside Lord Stark's chambers along the guards her uncle was using.
She felt tears in her eyes, but she would not show them. "Ser Arys," she was relieved to hear her voice not betray her inner anguish. "Would you escort me to the godswood?"
"Of course, princess." Arys fell in line behind her, but not before she saw a look flash across his face, but he said nothing, while walked behind her in silence.
Myrcella was thankful for the quiet. She walked briskly. The swishing of her dress while she moved and the armored footfalls of her knight were the only sounds she heard.
"Princess?" There was a tentativeness to his voice. "I received news while you were with Lord Stark."
If she had to speak, she was thankful that her knight wanted to speak on other matters then what he had just witnessed and suspected. "Oh? What sort of news?"
"It comes from the Reach," He sounded uncomfortable.
That made her stop. She turned around to see him standing stiffly in his armor. "Princess," he was surprised by her sudden stop and turn.
"What news is this?" She asked, "That would trouble my stalwart knight?"
Her tease didn't get him to smile. "It is about your Uncle, Princess. Renly's in Highgarden. He's married Lord Tyrell's daughter, and has declared himself King of the Seven Kingdoms."
She would've fell to the floor if not for Arys' quick hand which grabbed her arm gently to hold her steady.
"Princess?" His voice heavy with concern.
Myrcella thanked him with a smile. Inwardly, her heart was reeling. In her mind's eye, memories bubbled to the surface of her and Renly. Of how he would comfort her after Joffrey's bullying. He'd do so at her older brother's expense. He'd tell her stories or japes until she was laughing instead of sobbing. He'd wrap his arm around her, whispering all the things Joffrey was, she snickered along before adding her own. She always felt pleased when she could make him chuckle.
Joffrey isn't worth your tears, Princess.
She had taken that to heart. Renly had been right, her tears only made Joffrey stronger.
Who am I to turn to now? Her father was dead. Her cruel brother? Her distant mother?
"What madness is this?" She couldn't understand. Renly was behind Joffrey, Tommen, and her Uncle Stannis. Why would he do such a thing?
The Uncle who had always complimented her when her parents ignored her. He was kind and generous to her. Her favorite nameday gifts had always come from him. How could he be capable of this? Was his affection towards her all an act? Was this how he truly felt about her? About her family?
"I do not know," Her knight answered, "But he has the might of the Stormlands and the Reach behind him." Arys clenched his fist. "Regardless of the choice my family made, Princess. You have my loyalty."
Myrcella put her hand on his arm. "I never doubted that or you, Ser Arys."
Her words calmed him, and he offered her a grateful look.
It was no longer prayer or solitude she sought. The godswood will have to wait, she started moving back to where she had just departed-The Tower of the Hand.
"Princess?" Arys followed close behind, "I thought you wanted to go to the godswood."
"I need to see my Uncle."
"Princess."
She found Uncle Kevan behind his desk in his solar. "Uncle," She curtseyed, "I hope I am not interrupting."
"You are," His words were belayed by a tired smile. "But I'd rather give you a few minutes at this time." He gestured to the empty chair across from him.
"Thank you, Uncle," Myrcella returned his smile and took the offered seat, nodding her thanks, "I know you are busy with running the Seven Kingdoms."
"Seven Kingdoms?" Het let out a dry laugh. "At the moment, I fear that there are more kingdoms rebelling against us than those we are actually ruling."
"So Uncle Renly-"
"Has crowned himself king," Kevan's mirth was snuffed. Annoyance was clearly written along his face, "The Reach and the Stormlands follow him," He drummed his fingers along the top of the desk, "They have the largest army, but we hold Lord Redwyne's sons so the Fleet will remain in the Arbor."
"That is good news," she replied, "That will give us an advantage." Or so she thought, but the expression her uncle was giving her, did not bolster her confidence, "Uncle Stannis," she tried to explain, "He's still Master of Ships. He has the Royal Fleet..."
"Lord Stannis will not be joining us, Princess."
"Is he still upset with Father?" She remembered him leaving after Lord Arryn had gotten sick. She knew he did not get along with Father, but Uncle Stannis could always be trusted. He had held Storm's End during the Rebellion. He had smashed the Iron Fleet. He was loyal and true, even when father tried to forget, he couldn't dismiss his brother's constant support both during the rebellion and her father's reign.
Surely, Stannis would return if Uncle Kevan summoned him. With wise men like her uncles, they could undo this misunderstanding with the North and the Riverlands. To bring them back into the fold to fight Uncle Renly...
The thought made her stomach clench.
Kinslaying, there is no more abhorrent sin to the Gods than blood killing blood. Surely, it will come to something else, something better.
"I do not keep counsel with Lord Stannis," Kevan shrugged, "But word out of Dragonstone is he has brought a Red Witch out of Asshai into his confidence," His mouth twisted, "who knows what dark magic she has used to bind him to her, but he too has turned against the Crown."
Myrcella slumped in her seat. She felt an icy finger pressing down on her heart. Are we going to lose, Uncle? The question was lodged in her throat. Her fear choking whatever courage she had to ask it.
"All is not lost, Princess," It appeared he read her thoughts. "Your Uncles may have forgotten the importance of blood, but I know you have not."
She felt some pride swell in her chest at his words. "What would you have of me, Uncle?"
"You are vital, my dear," he answered. "The North have sent their terms for peace." His face showed nothing, "We need peace with the North and the Riverlands if we are to defend ourselves from your uncles in the south."
"What are their terms?"
A sly smile came to his face, "negotiable." He drank from his goblet, "but what is not negotiable is the betrothal between you and Lord Stark's Heir." A drop of wine dribbled down his chin, "You must marry Robb Stark. We need that above all else."
She tried to hide her glee at his plan. Myrcella's heartbeat quickened upon confirmation that she was still intended to marry Robb. She had feared that it would be undone on a whim from her brother. She prayed that it would remain even as their families warred and fought.
Could they have answered me? Had her trips and prayers to the godswood been rewarded. She wanted to honor the old gods, the gods her betrothed followed, the Starks followed, most of the north followed. Was this their doing? She found the idea exulting. Even in her trips to the godswood, she still sought some solace with the Seven. She was only trying to blend her faith with what would be needed of her when she moved north and married Robb.
"Lord Hand," a muffled voice broke through her happiness before the door was opened. Her heart sagged at the sight of her brother, Joffrey. And right behind him was Mother, his shadow and staunchest supporter.
Mother's precious golden prince, she observed bitterly, and now king.
It stopped hurting as much when she was accepted this truth and stopped trying to change or deny it.
"Your Grace," Uncle Kevan greeted, his voice was more wary than polite. "This is a surprise."
"Why was I not told about Uncle Renly?" Joffrey demanded. "Not only are you losing the war, but you're not informing your king of these traitors."
"At this moment," The Hand of the King began. "The only thing I am losing is my patience."
Joffrey blinked owlishly as their uncle's words settled in, before his face was pinched in annoyance. "You cannot speak to me like that." He wagged an angry finger at him. "I am the king."
The King of the Seven Kingdoms sulking like a spoiled child.
Due to her brother's tantrum, Myrcella went unnoticed, this is my brother: Loud, whiny, and spoiled. Who is now my king, a thought that always left her stomach in a twist.
Uncle Kevan looked over his nephew and king like one would a crying baby before turning his attention down to some papers on his desk. "Is this display suppose to do anything?" He picked up his quill. "I have more pressing matters to attend, Your Grace than soothing your pride."
"The king is concerned," Mother moved forward before Joffrey could further prove himself the fool he was. That was when she finally noticed Myrcella, her polite veneer shifting to confusion, "However, before we speak of politics." Her voice was falsely honeyed.
A stranger witnessing this exchange would believe the Queen's concerned words and worried expression directed at Myrcella to be genuine. Be pulled in by her mother's charm and beauty, but Myrcella knew her better than that through painful personal experiences all her life.
"Mayhaps, it would be better if Princess Myrcella was not present for these discussions."
Before Myrcella could so much as move or reply, her uncle spoke, "The Princess stays."
Mother's smile was forced. "I am her mother. I know what is best for her."
"Do you?" Kevan's eyes shifted from the Queen to Joffrey, an eyebrow raised in question to challenge such a claim. "The Princess stays. She is my guest, and I will not dismiss her." He put down the parchment he had been reading, as if realizing they would not be leaving soon. "Princess Myrcella has proven herself to me."
"Very well," Mother smiled tightly. She looked as if she bit into something rather unpleasant.
Joffrey scoffed. "Now it makes sense our current predicament," He looked down at Myrcella. "Grandfather cannot defeat a boy. Uncle Jaime got captured, and you my uncle, and my Hand, find my sister worthy of your time?"
"It is the battles, Uncle," Mother did not want her son's words to linger between them. "We are concerned about the battles. What is father doing about Robb Stark? This boy who defies this family? Our family. And his rightful king."
A boy? Myrcella wanted to scoff at how Mother described her betrothed. He was older than Joffrey, and was actually fighting. While her dear brother was hiding behind Mother's silks.
"The sight of their Lord must inspire the men," Myrcella adapted an innocent tone. "Mayhaps, my brother, my king should follow Robb's example, and take to the field to encourage our soldiers." She was certain she noticed a flickering smile from her uncle out of the corner of her eye.
Mother, however, did not take kindly to the suggestion. "Joffrey isn't a lord. He is a king." She scowled, "It is not his place to inspire these wretches. They should already be loyal to their king."
Their king who was currently standing behind his mother was nodding along to these excuses.
"Of course," Myrcella dipped her head, "How foolish of me."
"These are setbacks," Her Uncle made his voice known-calm but authoritative. "Wars are not just celebrating victories, but adapting to defeats and insuring you do not suffer the same loss twice."
"Clearly not," Joffrey rolled his eyes, "My family cannot even give me one." He dismissed his explanation. "I want victories! I want our enemies crushed. And these traitors dead. Starting with my uncles."
Uncle Kevan made a gesture to the parchment laid out before him atop his desk, "These are all correspondences and plans that will insure you get those, Your Grace."
Joffrey looked pleased. "Good," He nodded, "I knew I could rely on you, Uncle."
"The people will be thankful when their king can assure them that he's doing everything he can to end this war and punish those who seek to betray our family," Mother put a hand on her son's shoulder, smiling. It wavered when Joffrey shook it off, and left without another word.
Mother left a few heartbeats after, but not before her eyes flicked from Uncle Kevan to Myrcella, but whatever her thoughts were, she did not say them.
He sighed when they left, "By the Seven," he groaned, "Why in your wisdom did you make Joffrey and not Tommen the eldest?" His words were spoken as a humorless murmur. "A jape," he clarified unconvincing smile on his face. As if remembering his words even whispered could be reported against him.
"A clever one," Myrcella replied with her own smile. Hers was sincere, feeding on the wonderful thought that Tommen was indeed the oldest and their king. Tommen would give them kindness and peace. She was certain the people would love him. He was good. He was everything Joffrey wasn't.
"Not the only clever one," He chuckled.
She stood up. "Thank you for your time, Uncle." Myrcella realized she'd lingered long enough especially after the suspicious look her mother left with.
"We are leaving the capital within the fortnight," He announced abruptly.
Myrcella nearly fell back into her chair, "P-pardon?" Her voice was shaky and breathless.
"Your grandfather has requested I return to the field," He answered. "Your Uncle Tyrion is on his way to the capital. He will act as Hand in my place."
After what she just witnessed she knew this was information neither her mother nor her brother knew. These were decisions made by neither her brother, the king or their mother, the Queen Regent, but her grandfather, Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West.
"He is not pleased with what is occurring here," Uncle Kevan did not need to clarify who the he was. "I will be taking Lord Stark with me. He is a valuable hostage, and will be needed."
"That is wise," She was not sure what her brother would do if Lord Stark was not under the watchful eye of Uncle Kevan and his many guards.
"Prince Tommen will be leaving too."
"Truly?" Elation filled her with the notion that Tommen would be free from Joffrey's tormenting, "Where is he going?"
"To Casterly Rock," He answered kindly, "Your Aunt Genna will succeed where your mother failed," Uncle was blunt with his criticism of her mother. "The Prince will be well looked after and groomed to understand his role and duty."
"He will love it." Myrcella made no attempt to defend or correct her uncle's words against her mother.
Her Uncle gave her a sympathetic smile, but it dipped with his next words. "If there is to be war in the south than it is incumbent to make sure he is away from the capital in the case the city falls. He is your brother's heir."
Strangely, the thought of the capital, her home falling to one of her uncles brought neither sadness nor worry into her heart. She felt very little for that possible future.
You said we, the word were ringing in her ear. What of me? She wanted to ask, daring to hope what this meant for her. A chance to leave this city, her mother, Joffrey behind. In a few short months, her brother would be ten and six and no longer in need of a regent, Myrcella did not want to be in the city when that nameday came. She pushed that dark future aside, remembering what her uncle told her before they had been interrupted.
You must marry Robb Stark.
Hearing it again only made her heart flutter. It felt as if her dreams were real and her chance was here. It was that delightful feeling that spurred her to ask, "What of me?"
"You are coming with me. I am to treat with Robb Stark." He answered, "and what better way to secure an alliance then with a wedding."
A/N: I always enjoyed Kevan Lannister even if his scenes were few and far between. Not to mention, he shined in Cersei's chapters showing off his wit and intelligence. He just does not take their shit. I also think it makes sense that Tywin wants him back now that Tyrion can be used to serve as the Hand. Tyrion is not ideal to Tywin in the field, while Kevan is who he relies on above all others.
Thanks for reading,
-Spectre4hire