A/N: Here were are lovelies, new chapter for you all. Hope you enjoy!
unnamed visitor: Yes indeed, he is very negative at the moment, and all that negativity won't just disappear on sight. At the moment he doesn't have an open mind, I think his mind is going to have to be forced open on this issue. Thanks very much, I hope you like the update, it should bring you some more answers.
Boramir: Thank you! Yes, all of that is certainly weighing heavily on his mind, and he has had years to torment himself with it all. Yes indeed, he is in a lonely position, the one person (his mother) that he has around to talk to is telling him all the things he doesn't want to hear. Still, you are right, he definitely needs to find a better solution than the bottom of an ale tankard!
Right-ho folks, on we go!
:)
III: Bleak and Beautiful
Myrcella
She jolted awake as the carriage hit yet another bump in the road, her head smacking against the wooden sides. Myrcella cursed groggily, bringing her hand up to her head to rub the spot she had just bashed. It throbbed dully but she imagined the pain would soon fade, she was more interested in knowing how far they had come now. For the past days they had been traveling through the Riverlands, and from that Myrcella knew that it would not be long before they crossed the border and into the North. Into another kingdom entirely, ruled by a different king. A kingdom I will soon be wed to, a kingdom I will soon be queen of. She shuddered, allowing herself to believe it was because of the chill in the air she pulled her thick fur stole further around her shoulders and moved her hand to pull back the thick drape that covered the single window the carriage possessed.
It was still dark out, not pitch black but still likely an hour or so before dawn. She allowed the drape to fall back into place and slumped back down against the cushions. There was no bed in the carriage, merely a bench that had been upholstered and an array of furs, blankets and cushions for her to fashion into something comfortable enough to sleep on. She had had the option of stopping each night at an inn, but she had refused it. Her guard were able to survive on only a few hours' sleep, at least that is what they told her, and so she had been happy to stay in the carriage and allow them to move them along whenever they pleased. It would mean reaching the North sooner, something that she both longed for and dreaded. She longed to get there because then she would know exactly what she would be faced with. Then again, she also dreaded thinking about what she might face, terrified that her worst fears would be revealed.
She determined not to dwell on it now, grabbing one of the cushions and punching it into shape before she tucked it under her head and closed her eyes. The sway of the carriage soon evened out and her eyes began to droop. She vaguely wondered if this is how babies felt when they were rocked in their mother's arms, that they found the movement hypnotic and ever so soothing. Myrcella pulled her furs more tightly around her and shifted to find a better position. She wondered, as she let out a long sigh and snuggled herself around another of the cushions, if her own mother had ever rocked her to sleep, or whether she was just tended to by her nurses. It would be nice, Myrcella thought, just before sleep took her, to one day be able to rock a child of her own to sleep in her arms.
Myrcella fiddled with the little catch that held the window shut, finally managing to work the stiff fastening loose. Once it was she pulled the window open and fastened it so with the little hook that was hanging on the inside of the carriage. She breathed in the rush of freezing air greedily, daring to stick her head a little way out of the window. They were nearly there, one of her guards had told her the night before when she had ventured down from her carriage to stretch her legs. Soon Winterfell would be upon them, and she was starting to feel a horrible twisting sensation in the pit of her stomach. It was nerves, no doubt, and she willed them away. The last thing she wanted to appear before the Starks was frightened. She wanted to show them that she could be strong and hardy and survive in the North. If she went before them trembling with fear then they would likely imagine she would not last the winter. Perhaps they would prefer that?
She stuck her head further out of the window at that unsavoury thought, not caring that the freezing air made her eyes stream, nor that it was likely making her cheeks red raw. It felt good. Real. She needed so desperately to feel something real, something that could distract her from her tightly knotted stomach. Despite herself she wondered what the King in the North was doing now. Did he know she would soon be upon him? Was his stomach twisting as hers was? Perhaps he was pacing nervously, or perhaps he was working off his tension in the tiltyard. Perhaps he was unaffected. Unmoved. Perhaps he didn't care at all that she would soon be arriving. She closed her eyes and pulled her head back into the carriage, wiping the moisture from her cheeks. The last thing she needed was for it to look as though she had been crying when she arrived. She could already imaging the knowing looks. She wondered if they would feel pity for her, or if they felt she deserved to suffer.
Myrcella let her head lean against the side of the carriage so she could look out into the vast bleakness of the North. She remembered back to another lifetime when she had been travelling in a far larger carriage with Tommen and their mother. She remembered how excited they had been, how they had clamoured at the window and tried to get their mother to join in their joy. "There is nothing to see, it is only wasteland." Myrcella could not disagree more. Yes, the North was cold, and there was not much that was not green or grey. But it was beautiful in its own way. So vast and unending and so stunningly different from everything she was used to. Bleak and beautiful, two things that ought not to fit together seemed to work perfectly here. She smiled slightly and arranged her stole better around her neck as the cold air filled the carriage. There was no way she was closing the window though, she had to get used to this, and she wanted to see more of the wild North.
"Banners!" a shout from outside drew Myrcella's attention after several moments of her just gazing out at the scenery flashing by the window.
"I see the turrets!" another called, and the pace of her carriage seemed to increase ever so slightly. Her heart pounded wildly, knowing that it could only be Winterfell they were approaching as they had passed through Cerwyn earlier in the day. She swallowed hard and nervously fiddled with her stole, looking down at her skirts to make sure they were not too creased from travelling. In the next moment her hand went to her hair, praying that it did not look dishevelled from when she had stuck her head out of the window. Gods, what a stupid thing to do that had been. She practically dived across the carriage to root out her vanity box from under the seats opposite hers. Her guards were shouting to one another again as she rummaged quickly through for her brush.
"The gates are up, we'll ride right through!" one of them shouted, and she hurriedly dragged the brush through the tangled strands of her hair as quickly as she could. She just knew when the carriage had passed under the gate, feeling the difference in the smoothness of the ground beneath the wheels. Hurriedly she dropped the brush back into the box and slammed the lid closed, tossing her hair back over her shoulders and quickly moving back to her seat, hoping she had arranged herself on it in an unaffected manner. All too soon the carriage began to slow and she felt a lump rise up in her throat that would not disappear, no matter how hard she swallowed. Her stomach was churning so rapidly now that a part of her seriously thought that she might be sick. She clenched her fists, her nails sinking into her palms as she took long, deep breaths. In the next moment the door of her carriage opened and she turned her head to meet the eyes of one of her guard.
"Are you ready, princess?"
"You never let Joffrey best you…Robb Stark is not Joffrey." Remembering Tommen's words in his determined tone gave her the courage she needed to nod her head, bringing a smile to her face that she hoped did not resemble a grimace. She placed her hand firmly in the one her guard held out to her and shifted so she could step down from the carriage in the most dignified manner she could manage. One step. Two step. Her booted feet found the flagstones of the courtyard of Winterfell. She kept her eyes on the stones, taking one final deep breath before she looked up to see who was gathered to greet her. She swallowed, blinking stupidly. "Princess Myrcella, welcome back to Winterfell," the smile on Lady Stark's face looked rather strained, but Myrcella appreciated the effort, taking a few uncertain steps towards her.
"Thank you, my lady," she inclined her head politely, not sure whether she should drop into a full curtsey or not. She had not expected this. She had expected the King to be here, she had prepared herself for him and she had memorized exactly how she would conduct herself. If he was here then of course she would have dropped into a curtsey, there could be no question of not doing so. It was only his mother though, and though she was mother to the King, Myrcella still outranked her. Her head was spinning, her mouth opening as though to say something, and then closing again because she could think of no words. Even if she could think of any, she doubted they would come, the lump in her throat had apparently doubled in size.
"Allow me to show you to the keep," Lady Stark inclined her own head in return. "The servants will take care of your men and make sure your things are taken to your chambers, I don't believe you would decline a glass of wine?" As she spoke, she beckoned Myrcella to follow her and she did so obediently, her eyes darting around the courtyard, looking for any sign of the rest of the Stark family.
"I would not, thank you, my lady," Myrcella confirmed as she followed Lady Stark up the steps of the keep. Myrcella noted, as they passed between the guards that flanked the outer doors, that Lady Stark was swathed in black. Still mourning her husband. She swallowed hard, unable to remember her mother ever wearing black for her father. For Joffrey, yes. But not for their father.
"You must forgive the lack of a proper welcome party," Lady Stark apologised as the guards opened the inner doors for them so they could step into the entrance hall. "You were not expected this soon," the older woman continued on as the doors were firmly closed behind them again.
"We made good speed," Myrcella said, the only thing she could think of.
"Quite," Lady Stark agreed, leading her down a hallway that was vaguely familiar to her, though she could not quite remember why. She opened the third door they came to, gesturing for Myrcella to enter the room first. There was a fire dancing happily in the grate, and an inexplicable warmth to the small parlour she had been shown to. "Sit, please," Lady Stark indicated her, and Myrcella did as she was told.
Slowly she removed the stole from around her neck, it was rather stifling now that she was within the warm confines of the keep. Lady Stark set about pouring two glasses of wine, Myrcella thanking her when she passed her one of them. "To your safe arrival," Lady Stark toasted her with a smile, before she too settled herself down, taking the armchair that was opposite Myrcella's.
"You're too kind," she responded, before taking a tiny sip from her glass.
"You must forgive the absence of my children," Lady Stark said apologetically, "I am afraid that Robb is away from Winterfell, aiding the men with the harvest. He assured me in his last letter that he would be travelling back before long." Myrcella wasn't sure what to say to that, so she merely smiled in what she hoped what a serene manner, before she took a larger mouthful of wine.
"I am sure his Grace has much to contend with, what with winter so fast approaching," she said when she had swallowed it, "I would hate my arrival to cause any inconvenience to his duty to his subjects."
"Indeed, we did not expect to be facing the snows again so soon," Lady Stark said heavily, her eyes becoming slightly unfocused for a moment. "As for the others, Rickon is in his lessons. Arya is the Gods only know where, and Sansa of course no longer dwells at Winterfell. Bran is likely in the library or with the Maester, he has an almost unquenchable thirst for knowledge…" she tailed off, a slightly regretful look in her eye as she spoke about her second son. Myrcella swallowed hard, the memory of Bran's accident and who was responsible for it was hanging thick and unspoken in the air between them.
"I was so very pleased to hear about Lady Sansa's marriage," Myrcella forced a smile, hoping to clear some of the rapidly rising tension.
"Thank you," Lady Stark replied, "she is most happy."
"Where does she reside now, if I may ask?" Myrcella enquired, hoping that it was true that Sansa was indeed happy. After what she had suffered at the Capitol she deserved a whole lifetime of happiness.
"Only a few leagues north of here, one of the old holdfasts was restored and gifted to her husband when he was knighted. After the wedding Sansa moved there with him," Lady Stark told her, and Myrcella nodded her head.
"It must be nice, having her close," she commented, "does she visit Winterfell often?"
"She and Olyvar come when they can, their visits are slightly less frequent now they have the girls," Lady Stark answered her, a wistful smile coming to her face.
"Of course," Myrcella said, "may I ask how old they are?" She had known that Sansa was mother to one daughter, news had trickled down to the Capitol a little over a year ago, but she had no knowledge of a second.
"Bethany has two name days," Lady Stark informed her, "and little Raya was born a mere three weeks ago." There was inexplicable joy in her future good-mother's voice when she spoke about her little granddaughters, and Myrcella couldn't help but smile.
"That's so wonderful, you must be so thrilled," she said, hoping Lady Stark didn't doubt her sincerity. The older woman smiled, but Myrcella wondered if she had imagined the slightly uneasy look in her eye. It was gone in a blink and Myrcella determined to forget about it, smiling back at her.
"Thank you," Lady Stark said, "our family has been blessed indeed in recent times, now, perhaps I can show you to your chamber?" Myrcella nodded, placing down her empty glass and rising carefully up to her feet again.
"That would be most kind," she said as Lady Stark rose to her own feet and made her way to the door.
"It's the least I can do, given your poor welcome," Lady Stark replied, and this time Myrcella was sure she had caught a tone of irritation. She wondered whether the woman was irritated with her children for not being in attendance, or irritated with her for even being here. Thinking made her head hurt, and she decided to just hope that it was the former. If it was the latter then she would likely have no hope whatsoever of being accepted here. Robb Stark may well be the King, but it was well known how much of an influence his mother was to him.
Lady Stark had left her alone in the end, imploring her to ask should she need anything. Myrcella had smiled and been as polite as she could, wanting more than anything to endear herself to her future good-mother. She wondered if the King had kept away on purpose. She wondered if he wanted to hear his family's impression of her first. Perhaps she was just thinking too hard about it, more than likely he really had just been held up helping the men with the harvest. It didn't seem like something a king ought to be doing, but then again, as she was forever reminding herself, things in the North were done differently. She could never imagine Tommen going out and aiding the men with gathering stores. Not because her brother lacked the compassion nor the heart for it, but because their grandfather would never allow it if the idea ever did come into his head.
After a few moments of just concentrating on breathing calmly, Myrcella really began to take in her surroundings. Her chamber was modest but perfectly clean and cosy looking. A fire had already been lit in the grate and was dancing happily. From the warmth of the room she imagined that it had been lit some time before she arrived. There was a dresser in one corner, next to the window. A vanity was placed on the other side of the window. The bed dominated the wall opposite the fire, it was a large space with what looked like an entire mountain of furs atop it. She imagined that she wouldn't have need of all of them just yet. Her imagination then ran further, and before she could stop herself she was wondering if the King would ever share this space with her, or if she would be summoned to his bedchamber if he had need of her. She shuddered, averting her eyes from the bed and taking in the rest of her new living space.
The door to her chamber was between the fire and the dresser, and on the other side of the fire there was a screen. She imagined that a bathtub was placed behind it, and she approached and peered behind it just to confirm her thoughts. Against the wall opposite the window there was a table with two comfortable looking chairs. Again her imagination took off without her, wondering if she and the King could ever be comfortable enough with one another to take meals in private. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, looking instead towards the empty shelves that stood next to the bed. They looked rather forlorn, standing empty in such a cosy space. Really they ought to be laden down with books and trinkets. She had a few trinkets with her belongings, but only one book. Really, she ought to have brought more, but she had assumed that the Starks would have a plentiful supply. She bit her lip and remembered Lady Stark mentioning a library.
Her mind was made up then, she snatched up her stole before she could talk herself out of it, wrapping it around her shoulders before she marched with intent from the room. She remembered the way down to the entrance hall without any trouble, hesitating slightly before she approached the guards that were stationed on either side of the inner door. "Would you mind pointing me towards the library?" she asked them hopefully, seeing them exchange a glance with one another. She couldn't read their expressions, half their faces hidden by beards.
"It's in the east wing, princess," one informed her, "follow the main hallway down to the end and you will come to it."
"Thank you," she said, her voice laced with more relief than she had intended. They merely inclined their heads to her in response and she offered them a smile before she turned and made her way towards the hallway that led through the eastern part of the keep. The hallway forked at the end, but there was a door stood right before her and it was slightly ajar. She moved quietly towards it and looked through the gap, smiling in relief when she saw the shelves of books within. Myrcella opened the door more widely and stepped inside, pushing it to again before she set off down one of the rows. Idly she kept her eyes on the shelves, her eyes scanning the spines of the books as she drifted around one of the corners, waiting for something to catch her interest.
"Princess Myrcella," she jumped, though the voice was soft she had not been expecting it. She whirled around, finding the man the voice belonged to. Her eyes widened when she saw him. He was older, and had a hint of stubble on his cheeks, but his eyes and his features were easily recognisable. There was a slight smile on his lips, and an almost nervous look in his eye that put Myrcella at ease at once.
"Lord Bran," she greeted him in an almost relieved manner, a smile breaking out on her own face.
"Welcome to my domain," he said in a teasing manner, and her smile only widened.
"You must be kept well entertained here," she commented, casting her eyes about the place. It was vast, and yet still inexplicably warm as the rest of the keep so far appeared to be.
"Sorry I didn't come out and greet you," he said sincerely, "the people still stare."
"That's no matter," Myrcella said, her mouth suddenly dry. She swallowed hard, trying to think of something else to say. "I know you might not believe me, but I was truly glad to hear that you had woken after…" she trailed off, seeing the dark look that crossed his features.
"Why would I not believe you?" he asked after a moment of silence that Myrcella found excruciatingly painful.
"Given how you came to have your fall," she said quietly, her eyes finding the floor as her fists clenched tightly.
"You didn't push me, princess," Bran said quietly, and his words gave her the courage to lift her head and meet his gaze again.
"No," she agreed, "but I know how much harm my family has caused to you, irreparable damage…"
"You cannot take responsibility for any of it, none of us can help our name," Bran told her firmly, "it would be like me being given credit for slaying a dragon. I cannot take the credit for Robb's achievements just because I have the Stark name, no more than you can take the blame for any of your family's misconduct." She raised her brows at the word misconduct, thinking that Bran was being far more diplomatic that he had cause to be.
"Thank you, my lord, truly, you have no idea at all how much your words mean to me," she told him, her eyes holding his the entire time she spoke.
"Robb ought to have been here to greet you," he said sadly after a moment of just looking at her. "I'm sorry that he wasn't," he smiled slightly.
"I'm sure he has much to contend with, what with winter on the way again," she said, hoping she sounded unaffected. "Besides, you ought not to take responsibility for your brother's absence," she went on, her tone slightly teasing now. She was thrilled when Bran grinned at her, it almost felt like the past eight years had been erased and that they were children again with no cares in the world. It may have been delusional, but Myrcella was determined to hold onto that feeling for as long as possible. "What is it you're studying?" she asked him curiously, taking a step closer to the desk he was sat at.
"Come closer," he beckoned her forwards, and she did as he bid, coming to lean over the desk so she could better see the papers and books he had strewn over it.
"Stars?" she questioned him, and he nodded his head.
"You know, there are some in the world who believe our futures can be told from them," Bran informed her, and her lips quirked up slightly.
"How fascinating. Do you believe it?" she inquired, turning her head to see his own lips twitch into a smile.
"I have far more study to do before I can make a decision on that," he told her, and her smile widened.
"Yes, I suppose you do," she said faintly, looking at the piles of books and papers he had before him.
"If I conclude it true, perhaps I could reveal your future, princess," he said. Though his tone was teasing it had Myrcella's stomach clenching tightly again.
"I am not sure I would want to know," she said quietly, averting her eyes, but not before she had seen the frown crease his brow.
"I believe you will have a happy future, princess," he said just as quietly, "good people deserve happy futures."
A/N: A hope you enjoyed that, a little more insight into what's been going on with the Starks over the last years. Never fear, those who are impatient for them to meet, is it happening next chapter. I promise!
:)
