Chapter 4: The Capital

Myrcella drowsily made her way back to her chambers. The castle had been in somewhat of an uproar since the events of yesterday and the temporary disappearance of Lord Stark's son, Cregan. Nothing serious came of it, of course. The boy found himself back at Castle Darry hours before the guards even came close to becoming ready to form a search party. Yet despite that, new patrols were set up, and Castle Darry found itself rather shut down.

It meant little to her however, she had no real plans or intentions on going anywhere. Where could she head to even? Back in King's Landing, the Red Keep was practically a city unto itself, one where you could explore its labyrinthine halls and find yourself right back at the start of where you began. Yet it had its spots, the gardens, the courtyard, the Throne Room, all places she had to visit every now and again, or simply came there of her own volition. Castle Darry was not like that unfortunately, it was an old castle, with stone dating back further than her entire family line, yet it was also small, and with little room for exploring.

'No wonder he went out into the wilderness, it must be so terribly drab for a boy to be caged in like this.' she thought. Long ago her father told her stories of how he and Lord Stark would go out into the valleys of the Vale and climb together, and how Lord Eddard would tell her father stories of Winterfell's woods. Northmen loved their woods, it offered food and bounty aplenty.

Despite the events of yesterday, this day had been rather calm, all things considered. For that she was grateful, excitement was good every now and again but ones that sent entire castles into panic ranged rather low on her list of wants. Still, she was glad her betrothed was safe at least.

The sun had set long ago, and the small and narrow corridors of Castle Darry were lit with only barely noticeable flames from the torches that hung on the walls, yet Myrcella had long since memorized the path back to her chambers. Her mother had insisted they all share a room, but Joffrey immediately rebuked that suggestion, father as well. While Tommen was perhaps the only one to support it, with Myrcella being rather indifferent to it, he was still too young to be out and about by himself in the halls of Castle Darry, and frankly having Uncle Jaime, still clad in his Kingsguard uniform, marching him around would be a bit too much. For that reason Myrcella had volunteered to walk her little brother back to his room whenever they would have dinner together.

Turning another corner, she felt a sigh escape her lips and her eyes began to grow heavy. 'Just a bit more…' she reassured herself. From the outside she heard the rustling of chain and steel plate, luckily there was a window close by. Out in the courtyard she could see the Hound, just barely however, yet the man's menacing frame and unmistakable helmet made him stand out from the more simply armored guards patrolling the courtyard.

'Joffrey's dog.' It was not a stretch to say that Myrcella rather loathed the grimly-suited bodyguard. He was a sour and mean-spirited person, prone to mockery and scared Tommen on more than one occasion. Had he not been his brother's faithful sword, she would have feared him as well, but he knew that the Clegane was not so suicidal as to harm King Robert's own daughter. Still, there was something wrong with that man, he was no knight, that was for certain, nothing like Ser Barristan or her Uncle Jaime.

The Hound led his horse to the stables and hitched it alongside the others. Once he had exited out the stables however, it seemed as if he almost knew that he was being watched, and so Myrcella quickened her pace away from the window. After traversing the stone hallways and making about three more turns she finally arrived at her chambers.

Slowly she turned the hinges of the door and went inside. Careful so as to not make too much noise. Though there were still many people inside the castle who had not yet retired for sleep yet, it was still a habit of hers to not be too loud, rather uncourteous for a princess to be bumping around the castle at night without an escort.

'Just a month or two more, and we'll all be back home.' she let out a sigh after finally entering her room.

When they had first made their way from King's Landing to Winterfell, Myrcella and her siblings were rather excited. They would finally be leaving the capital to someplace that was not Casterly Rock or Storm's End, and as a family as well. They would get to see all kinds of sights and meet new people. And they did. Yet as time went on, the days felt as if they were getting longer, and the sights and people did not seem to affect her as much. It did not take long for her to realize she was getting homesick.

She wondered how her flowers were doing back in the gardens, and if Ser Arys had kept his promise of watering them regularly in her stead. He was among the three Kingsguard who were pressed to stay back in King's Landing, alongside Ser Preston and Ser Roland. Father had a habit of not wanting the Kingsguard around, save for perhaps her Uncle Jaime and Ser Barristan, so their focus was mainly centered around defending the royal family much more than the King himself. Though why her father had picked the more skilled of the Kingsguard knights to stay behind when ones such as Boros Blount went with them, she could not understand.

Myrcella walked to a small table with a mirror, lighting a candle she slowly undid the small necklace and bracelet around her neck and wrist. Though she preferred it when she was much more presentable when going out, circumstances prevented that heavily, and so she kept things such as heavy jewels and ornate clothing to a minimum. Still, that did have its benefits, such as needing far less time to get into her bedclothes and go to sleep.

The candle let out a warm glow around her face, yet once she raised the mirror up to look at herself it was quite the opposite. The harsh weather and weak sun of the North did little for her complexion, yet that was not her main worry, it was the bags slowly forming around her eyes.

As the days became longer and their journey coming closer to an end, Myrcella became more restless, yet that did not change the fact that she would tire herself out after every day. This combination of opposites served well to disrupt any form of sleep she craved during the nights, leaving her alone in the pitch blackness, all to her thoughts, desperately clinging to a sleep that would never claim her. There were even nights she had gone without sleep at all, so much so she had asked her mother for help with it, to which she asked the maester of Castle Darry for a tiny brew of sweetsleep to be brewed in her drink every night she would be having troubles. It worked for the most part, and every time she would take it she would fall into a calm slumber.

'Just a month or two more…' she repeated internally, looking at her reflection in the mirror as the flames of the candle danced around her complexion.

Her gaze was soon interrupted with a knocking at the door. It was slow and would have been barely noticeable if there wasn't so much quiet surrounding the keep at night. She stopped herself for a moment and pondered who it could be. It most certainly wasn't Tommen, that boy was fast asleep after dinner, nor could it be her Uncle Jaime or old Ser Barristan.

A scratching sound soon came from the door, like that of a dog trying to get into the kitchens, followed quickly by muffled noises, a voice, and another set of knocks. "Just a moment…" she spoke softly, still unsure of who was at her door. It was not as if she feared for her life, yet still, it was strange to have someone come knocking at this time, or come knocking at her door at all. 'Probably a servant.' she explained to herself.

Yet outside was not a servant, rather, a tall boy with thick auburn hair and blue eyes looking down at her. As she opened her door, Myrcella held the candle up and blinked a few times to see if her mind had not been playing tricks on her.

"My lady." Cregan Stark stood stiff as an oak, not moving a muscle save for his lips parting to make words.

There were many times when someone had greeted her with those words, yet this was perhaps the first time she was at a loss for her own words in response. Mainly because she did not know how to respond, so in turn she stood there in a confused stuppor for a moment.

"Forgive me, I must have woken you, I know that now is somewhat of an inopportune time for unprompted visits."

"N-no of course not, it's no trouble at all. Forgive me, it seems I've forgotten my manners." she scrambled a quick bow before the Stark, something her mother had told her many times not to do as 'A Princess should not bow to her subjects', yet frankly, courtesy was something that transgressed positions of power in her eyes.

"The apology should be mine, my lady. There was something I had wished to talk to you about, but I was rather remiss with my time." the young man spoke gently, yet with an incredibly harsh and bitter face, which did nothing but add to Myrcella's confusion. It had been so long since she had heard him speak, she could scarcely recognize even the boy's voice.

It was not as if she had forgotten about her betrothed, nor that she bore him any ill-will. Even before she and her family arrived at Winterfell, Myrcella had long been informed of her planned betrothal with Eddard Stark's second son, followed closely with the assurance by her father of how good a match it would be.

"Ned is one of the best men I know, sunshine. You'll see, there's no better match a girl can get than a son of Eddard Stark."

From her father's stories, she had expected two things at that point, either an impressive man, chivalrous, gallant, and handsome, like her Uncle Jaime. Or a stern and stoic, yet polite and suitable lad with a wilder side. In reality however, Lord Stark's son was rather… boring.

There was nothing wrong with him, mind you. When they had spoken shortly during the feast at Winterfell, he was very polite, and their dance together was quite the highlight of her evening that night, though that was mainly due to her trying not to embarrass herself by tripping over on the dance floor. When she had spent time with Cregan's twin, Sansa, she had only good things to say of him, and Myrcella could believe the praise the girl had given him. It was a shame however that most of those things were 'He's a very good listener' and 'He can be very polite when you tell him to'. Traits that could be considered incredibly useful in a dog or cat, but not in a potential spouse.

Myrcella's gaze slowly lowered down to the Stark's feet for a moment, making her heart skip a beat as she saw a single yellow eye staring back at her. In that instant she had almost screamed in terror, if it were not for Cregan quickly stopping her, she would have most likely woken up the entire castle.

"It's alright. He won't do anything, he just thinks this is his room." the Stark explained as he put his arm back down, it was then she noticed how he had his other hand behind his back, as if hiding something. Yet Myrcella already knew what he was most likely hiding.

"Oh?" she asked with a rather shaky voice. It was no secret the direwolves terrified her to no end, yet over time she did get somewhat used to their presence, but that was only from looking at them from afar, now with one being so close all of her fears were flooding back to her. "Very well then. I'll… trust your word for it." she struggled to tear her eyes away from the large wolf who was busy licking his snout and wagging his tail happily like a dog. "So then, you said there was something you wished to ask me?"

"Indeed." Cregan produced the arm from his back and reached it out towards Myrcella, he held his fist closed and slowly opened it up to reveal a small gem, a crimson red ruby.

"What's this?" Myrcella asked, observing the ruby at the palm of the Starks hand. When she brought her candle closer Myrcella could see the gem begin to sparkle against the flames.

"A request." Cregan said as he nudged his hand slightly towards Myrcella. "And an apology for past behaviors."

"An apology?"

"Yes, an apology. I realize that I have not made quite an effort to… well, spend time with you. At least not as much as Sansa has with your brother Joffrey."

"No no, there's no need for you to apologize my lord." Myrcella interrupted the boy as she finally understood what he was doing. "I understand I have not been very open when it comes to reaching out to you. It must be hard for you, being away from home, away from all the people you know. It must be terrible."

"I'm used to it." His words were simple and short, without a hint of emotion in them. "However I am more than willing to admit my mistake on this matter, and it is one I wish to correct."

Myrcella couldn't help but let out a smile. "And your main way of showing this to me was giving me a jewel I could get any day?" she teased with a raised brow.

"As I said, my lady, it was an apology. And a request."

"Oh?" she picked the small ruby from Cregan's hand and inspected it for a moment, it was real, of that she had no doubt, but there was something odd about it. "And what request would that be?"

"I would like it very much if we could spend some time together. The Riverlands are not known for their lush green meadows, but there are still some places we could go around and get to know one another." his words sounded near mechanical in the tone, yet somehow Myrcella couldn't help but believe what he was telling her.

"I'd like that, my lord. Very much." she smiled at the Stark, and for a moment, Myrcella could swear she could see a hint of light forming around Cregan's cold eyes.

"Very well then. Thank you, my lady. I hope to give you a better impression than our time in Winterfell."

"You are well on your way to doing that already, my lord. However, may I ask you something before you leave?" Myrcella asked as Cregan raised his brow. Without words she pointed towards the bandaged forearm of the Stark that gave her the ruby.

"Ah," Cregan looked at the bandaged forearm, "I had gotten this yesterday. The rather bothersome thing about the Ruby Ford is that it becomes more treacherous the more upstream you travel." he explained, to which Myrcella raised her brow.

"You went up the Ruby Ford?"

"Only partially. How do you think I managed to find that jewel?" Cregan's words made Myrcella stop for a moment, with wide eyes she looked once more towards the ruby in her hand, finally recognizing the color and why it seemed so familiar.

"Truly?" was all she could ask, looking back from her hand towards the second born Stark son.

"Good night, my lady." he said simply, leaving Myrcella standing dumbfoundedly in front of her opened door.

Soon enough she managed to come back to her senses and closed the door. With the candle almost run out of wax Myrcella spent her last remaining moments of light to observe the ruby Cregan had gifted her, the seemingly worthless piece of gemstones now having more value than an entire keep for her. Though it was not the fact that this was one of Rhaegar's Rubies, it was that Cregan had gone through the trouble of simply getting one for her. It was no easy task, especially after so many years, yet she believed the not so subtle implications the Stark had given her.

With every second that passed however, the more the ruby reminded her of the Stark boy's bandaged forearm, and the real reason why the Stark had gotten it. It was no secret, Joffrey was more than happy to boast of his victory at the dinner table today, much to his father's fury as to why he was picking fights with his soon-to-be good-brother, and his mother's sudden worry as to what would have happened had he injured himself out there. All the while however, Myrcella thought about just what was going through Cregan's head when challenging Joffrey to a spar with live steel, and why he had done it in the first place. Perhaps later on, he might even tell her, but until that time, she placed the ruby in the box where she kept all her personal jewelry.

'It seems I was wrong about you, Cregan Stark.' She thought. That night, Myrcella slept soundly, without a care in the world and excited for the coming days.

The streets of King's Landing were as busy as ever, teeming with life from all corners of Westeros. The capital of the Seven Kingdoms was by far the largest and most populated area on the continent, which meant all its people would find themselves here sooner or later. The same could be said for Ser Martin of the Vale.

He led his horse by the reins across the busy streets of the Cobbler's square, one of the more cleaner parts of the city, and its main road intended for all kinds of merchants, craftsmen and peddlers to sell their wares. A good dozen or so had already spotted him and were ushering him to look at their wares. It was nothing new, yet the man still stood out amongst the more common farmers and coal-carriers with his clean tunic and thoroughbred horse carrying two caskets worth of equipment.

He came to King's Landing in search of work, as most Hedge Knights do, yet so far he had not had so much luck. Peace-time was not good for travelling swords, and frankly he did not have the will to travel to Essos and earn his wage with a sellsword company. Yet protecting merchant caravans were not the worst of jobs, the pay was decent, and Martin was good enough with his money that he had little to want when it came to basic necessities. For now, a bed and lodgings were more important.

Traveling down the road, he eventually found a rather quaint tavern with a stable. Right in front of the stables was a woman feeding hay to the horses and filling up the trough with a bucket of water.

"Pardon." he called out to the woman.

"Another hedge boy, eh?" the old woman's voice was rough and coarse, her posture crooked and skin seeming like it was gnawed by a pack of ravens, this was a woman whose life was fueled by her work, and it showed.

"Funny, I had thought myself more discreet in the past, yet it seems the capital is truly used to people like me."

"Oh don't get me started dear, just today I had a band of brothers buy out me boy three pairs of room, took the entire second deck of the inn they did." The woman lifted a large pack of hay and placed it in front of a row of three horses who all ate it gleefully. "You here for bread and salt? A room?"

"Both. As well as a spot for my horse."

"Right, bring 'em here." he handed off the rains to the old woman, who patted the brown and white spotted stallion on his snout. "I'll take care of 'is 'ooves and saddle, you want us to take care of those big old bags as well? Got a nice closet in the back we keep hidden for guests, never once had someone steal a thing."

"That would be most kind of you, my lady."

"Hah! I'm too old for flattery lad, leave the noble talk for the girls at Chataya's. Talk with 'em like that and they might just let you have a go at them for free."

"You speak as if from experience." Martin couldn't help but smile, the woman's warm and chatty nature was a strong opposite to her shriveled and crooked appearance, though he had long learned in the past to not judge others based upon only a single factor.

The woman laughed drily. "As well I should, I worked there. Back before it was even called Chataya's. Had all four of me children there with four different men. One of which is workin' there now."

"Those sound like the words of someone who holds great pride in their past. There's not many women who would speak so fondly of their times as women of the night." Martin followed the woman into the stables as he picked up a few things from the satchel of his saddle, mainly, his coin purse.

"Ah, let me tell you sonny, any village girl with a nice pair of tits on her can become a tavern whore for a night, it takes skill to do what we did back in the day."

"One always does prefer professionals I suppose, no matter the job that needs to be done."

"How do you think I managed to get this inn?" The woman tied his horses reins by a nearby wooden post and let the steed feast himself on a fine bale of hay in front of him. "You can pay what you need to me son inside, he's the one who handles all the money. Seven know he doesn't want me to handle the coin anymore, ungrateful little shit."

"Of course. One more question, is there a problem if I bring my blade with me?"

"Not at all, Serrah. Gods forbid you get caught with a prick inside your bum and don't have anything to show for it."

"Wonderful." He unwrapped the rope around the scabbard that was tied around his horse's saddle. Once ready at his side, Martin went inside the tavern through the main gates.

A fine enough establishment if ever there was one in King's Landing. Around the tables people paid no heed to him entering as they focused on their meals and drinks. Meanwhile, the stablewoman's son stood ready at the counter, cleaning a pair of mugs with a wet rag.

"Welcome Ser, how may I help you?" the barrel chested man greeted him kindly, a crooked smile appearing at his lips the moment he spotted him.

"A room, if you will, good man. And some care for my horse outside."

"But of course, and how long will your stay be?" he quickly let got of the mugs and placed them on the counter before pulling out a small sheet of paper.

'I suppose the old woman must have left quite a good impression on her customers if she could teach her children how to read and write.' Martin thought. "As long as my coin can fill your pocket." he pulled out his purse and answered the man, leaving three golden dragons.

From a simple look at the two, the differences in appearance were night and day. Martin was still considered a young man, with raven black hair and a beard beginning to form on his jaw, he held himself to a high form as much as he could. The tavernkeep was the opposite it would seem, with a pronounced gut and greying hair that looked to be slowly balding away, his looks matched his mother, yet it seemed he lacked the social wits to back them up.

The moment the coins touched the table, Martin could see him fight the urge not to begin drooling on them.

"But of course Ser!" he near shouted out to the entirety of King's Landing. "Here you are, your room is on the far right of the third floor." reaching under the desk he pulled out a metal key and handed it to Martin, who thanked him quickly and made his way to the room.

As he traversed the steps, Martin took a look at the copper key in his hand. 'I've never seen an inn with keys for each room. Suppose they build them differently here in the capital.'

His quarters were on the more luxurious side, that was for certain. A large bed, a chest, and furniture lined around such as a small table, a cupboard, three shelves bolted to the wall with an assortment of books. This was a room suited more for a petty merchant prince than a simple hedge knight, but playing smart with your money paid off in the end, now he hoped to continue earning enough to be able to afford things like this.

'A few more years, some luck, and skill on my part, I'll be living easily on a plot of land of my own.' Now, the only thing he was missing was a reputation. Knights rode their horses with prestige and renown following behind them, but those were the boons of being born a noble to some great house. Martin was a bastard, and not even one who was sired by anyone of note, so he would have to dig himself out of obscurity by his hands alone, and caravanning for the rest of his life was not the way to go about it.

He laid himself out on the large bed that seemed intended more for a family of four than a single person, and slowly began to fall into a slumber. The journey had been long, and the soft furs and feathers under him quickly managed to claim his consciousness.

After a while however, cheers coming from the outside interrupted his sleep. Cries of joy and chants, whistles and screams. Looking out of his window, he saw the source of all the noise.

The King, and the royal family, had returned to King's Landing.

Martin watched out from his window at the sight in front of him, hundreds upon thousands of men, women, and children cheering on the Stag King as he triumphantly rode red-faced and tired, back into the Red Keep. It was no secret that the King had been journeying across the continent and into the North for Lord Eddard Stark's keep of Winterfell. After the death of Jon Arryn, the Crown needed a Hand. There was much speculation across the continent Martin heard of who the next Hand would be, some rightfully speculated it would be Tywin Lannister, the Queen's father and former Hand of King Aerys, others thoughts of men such as the King's brothers Stannis or Renly, or even bold suggestions such as Lord Tarly or Mace Tyrell. Yet in the end, Martin's thoughts of who it would be were confirmed when he saw Eddard Stark riding beside the king, adorned in his silver-grey attire with the sigil of House Stark emblazoned onto it, the man cut a rather regal figure. Who else would rule by the King's side if not the very man who he had won his throne with?

The royal procession slowly made its way across Cobbler's Square, behind the king rode four Knights of the Kingsguard, all adorned in their white cloaks and plate, the sun shining on them as they were met with equal cheers from folks seeing them ride. The City Watch held the masses at bay, yet Martin was glad to see that for once it was to hold them back from smothering the King with praise rather than throwing excrement and rotten food.

King Robert was a good man in the eyes of many of Westeros' people, a soldier King, and one who loved to throw lavish parties, feasts and tourneys for many occasions. Many knights had found their success from one of the King's tourneys, winning gold, fame and prestige from them all. Which was why Martin had come here in the first place.

If he ever wished to live the quiet and tranquil life he so wished, he required not only money, but also fame and renown. From the blood and mud of the battlefield, he had long since set out to make a name for himself, and that is what he shall do. 'Perhaps winning a King's tourney might be enough to buy me a small barony? Make a noble family of my own.' Ser Martin of the Vale never thought of himself as an ambitious man, yet that did not mean he had no aspirations of his own.

He was born the lowest of the low, an irchun on the streets of Oldtown fighting for crumbs of bread. Yet with sword and shield, he planned to climb as much as he could to the top, fate be damned.