A/N: Ooooh we had a bit of divide on that last chapter. I'd say most are 'Team Myrcella', but there are a few on 'Team Robb', and a fair few diplomats who can see both sides - I love it! Anyway, let's see what this next chapter brings up...

Guest: Indeed, they have both suffered at Joffrey's hands, but obviously Robb doesn't know about that. And yes, you could be right, he certainly has a lot of awful memories from the times of the war which will continue to affect him.

Lang: Thank you very much!Myrcella certainly stood up to him, you'll get her thoughts on that in this chapter. You're very welcome, hope you keep enjoying.

Dog of War: Well, you clearly didn't enjoy my premise, and that's completely fine. I have, however, made it very clear that this is an extremely AU fic, so obviously certain things will take place that stretch the imagination. To me, that's the point of fanfic. I mean, there's no point in just writing a rehash of the original. I think people read this stuff for different alternatives, and that's what I'm offering. If you don't like it then fair enough, but I did make it clear what this fic is about from my A/N at the very beginning.

unnamed visitor: Yes, Myrcella certainly found a friend in Bran. Glad you like the pairing between Sansa and Olyvar. There may have been a slight hint of attraction between them, but it isn't something Robb will be acknowledging just yet. Read on to find out if Myrcella's words had the desired effect. Thank you so much for your comments, hope you enjoy this next one.

Urazz: Yep, he sure got told there! I think she did indeed impress him a little bit. And yes, I don't think it would be hard for Cat to be more motherly towards her than Cersei managed to be.

Boramir: Myrcella certainly showed him what she's made of that's for sure. I'm afraid that won't be the familiar face, but hopefully it won't be a disappointment. I do agree that Robb needs to come to terms with what he agreed to, he's clearly been burying his head in the sand and now she's here it's all got a bit too much for him. I have indeed thought of that - see this chapter for the answers to that particular question. As for the Riverlands, yes, it is under Robb's control, and Theon and the Iron Islands - you'll have to wait and see I'm afraid! Thanks a lot.

Guest: Go Myrcella indeed, she certainly gave Robb pause for thought.

Right-ho folks, on we go!

:)


V: The Doll


Myrcella


Myrcella's stomach snarled with hunger but she could still not bring herself to leave her chamber and make the journey into the great hall for breakfast. She had missed dinner the night before as well but she hadn't minded, her stomach had been fluttering too nervously for her to even consider food. Part of her could still not believe the words she had spoken to the King, and she had had a fitful sleep. Dreaming of all sorts when she did sleep, and spending the entire time fretting about what she had done when she was awake. She had over stepped the mark, she knew she had. If her mother had ever spoken that way to her father then she had no doubt that she would have ended up with a bruised cheek. Myrcella raised her own hand to her cheek, wondering if the King would ever strike her. She swallowed hard and promised herself that she would never again give him cause to.

If she were braver then she liked to think that she would have gone down to his study and offered up her apology. She was not braver though, and so she stayed hidden in her chamber, wondering if it would occur to anyone that she had not eaten in almost a full day. Self-consciously she smoothed her skirts, twisting her hands together as she resumed her slow pacing of the room. Perhaps she could wait until she was sure that everyone had finished breaking their fast and then sneak down to the kitchens and hope they had some scraps left. She sighed. Is this what she had been reduced to? Contemplating going begging to the cooks like some beggar girl. She shook her head and met her own eyes in the mirror. She was Myrcella Baratheon, Princess of the Southern Kingdoms. If she could not bring herself to walk into the great hall and face the presence of the King then what hope did she have?

Just as she had resolved to pull herself together and walk down there a knock came at the door. She hesitated, playing with her skirts again as she wondered who could possibly have come. In the end she made for the door and wrenched it open, prepared to fall to her knees and beg forgiveness if it was indeed the King who had come. She faltered when she recognised her visitor, her lips breaking into a smile despite her inner turmoil. "Sansa!" she was so surprised and elated that she forgot all propriety and practically launched herself at the older woman. Sansa held her back tightly and Myrcella closed her eyes fast to prevent the tears from coming. Eventually Sansa gently prised her away, considering her face for a moment before she ushered her back inside her chamber, following on behind.

"My mother thought you might be hungry," Sansa said after she closed the door, "one of the servants will be up soon with some breakfast for you."

"Thank you," Myrcella said, the only words she could say.

"Robb is in a foul mood," Sansa said lightly, crossing to the window and pulling the drapes aside. "He has barely said two words to me since I arrived," she continued, "and even the girls haven't managed to put a smile on his face." Sansa's voice remained calm and light, but Myrcella could sense the underlying questions.

"Likely that is my fault," Myrcella said, and Sansa turned from looking out of the window, a sympathetic smile on her face.

"Mother didn't say much, but she said enough that I know you had words yesterday," Sansa said kindly, raising her brow expectantly.

"The words were all mine, my lady," Myrcella told her miserably, and Sansa tutted, coming closer to her and ushering her into one of the chairs.

"Sansa, is preferable," Sansa corrected her with a raised brow and Myrcella managed a weak smile in response.

"I'm so glad to see you," Myrcella burst out before she could stop herself. "Truly, I am. I had no idea that you were coming and…well, I am so glad to see it with my own eyes how happy you are," she managed a real smile at the end, and Sansa beamed back, coming to take the chair opposite her.

"I'm sorry I never wrote," Sansa said sincerely, "I would have liked to, but Robb seemed to think you would never get them."

"Likely he was right," Myrcella said dully, dropping her head into her hands and massaging her temples.

"Whatever you said yesterday, I don't think Robb is angry with you," Sansa said, and she looked up hopefully.

"Really?" she asked incredulously, and Sansa smiled.

"I know my brother well enough," Sansa nodded, "and I know when he is angry with someone around him, and when he is angry with himself. Believe me, on this occasion, he is most certainly angry with himself."

"I said too much, things I really ought not to have done but…I just couldn't help it…" Myrcella trailed off, shaking her head before dropping it heavily back into her hands.

"Believe me, whatever you said was deserved, or so my mother tells me," Sansa reassured her, and she snorted in a rather undignified manner. "Trust me," Sansa soothed, "Robb can be as stubborn as a mule on occasion, but he will not be so cold forever. He cannot blind himself to you forever, eventually he will work out that you are nothing like he feared. You just have to be patient, and learn not to take his moods personally. He will get better, he just needs to open his eyes and see the real you."

"What if he doesn't like the real me?" Myrcella asked her dully, and Sansa moved her hand underneath her chin to coax her head up again.

"If he does not, he is a fool," Sansa said firmly, "don't think I never saw what you did, how you stood up for Tommen against Joffrey. You were the only person in that place who was not afraid of him, you have a good heart, Myrcella. Robb will realise that eventually, sometimes it just takes a man a little while to catch up to what we ladies already know."

"I think you're overestimating me, Sansa," Myrcella smiled slightly, "Joffrey terrified me." She had never admitted that to anyone before, and it felt good to let someone else know, and ever so easy to confess it to Sansa. She had suffered her own torment at Joffrey's hands, and yet she sat before her now, so wise and happy and strong.

"But you never let it show," Sansa reached forward to take one of her hands. "You are stronger than you give yourself credit for, just be yourself and Robb will come around, I promise you," Sansa looked so certain that a little part of Myrcella couldn't help but believe her.

"I really am so glad you're here," she smiled, and Sansa returned it. "Gods, I almost forgot…I have something for you," Myrcella prised her hand from Sansa's and stood up, crossing the room to the dresser standing opposite.

"For me?" Sansa asked curiously as Myrcella opened the dresser and knelt down so she could pull the box from the bottom where she had stored it. "I was not expecting anything, Myrcella, I do hope you didn't go to any trouble or expense," Sansa was worrying at her bottom lip as Myrcella approached her, setting the box down on the table in front of her.

"Neither," she promised. "It has always been yours, I have just been holding onto it for you until such time I could get it back to you. I meant to get it to you before you went from the Capitol, but everything happened so quickly and I never got the chance. It doesn't matter now though, better late than never, open it," Myrcella urged her, and Sansa did as she was bid, sliding the lid from the box. She folded back the material Myrcella had wrapped her gift in, her eyes welling with tears at once when she saw what was inside.

"Is this…?" Sansa stood, her eyes disbelieving as she gazed down into the box.

"The doll your father got you at the Capitol," Myrcella confirmed quietly, seeing the older woman's hands shake slightly as she reached them into the box.

"I was so ungrateful," Sansa whispered, lifting up the doll and staring at it incredulously. "Hateful," she continued, her voice full of regret.

"I'm sure your father knew you didn't mean it," Myrcella said soothingly, and Sansa nodded slightly, her eyes still fixed on the doll.

"How did you get this?" she asked after a long moment, her eyes flickering towards Myrcella now.

"Your father came across me in the keep one day, he had the doll with him and he offered it to me," Myrcella told her, and Sansa smiled weakly.

"And you kept it, all this time," she was shaking her head slightly.

"I always wanted to get it back to you after…" Myrcella paused awkwardly, "after what happened…only, there never seemed to be a right time and I was afraid to be caught. So I kept it safe, and when I discovered that one day I would wed the King, well, I knew that I would be able to return it to you eventually." Sansa bit down on her lip and Myrcella saw a single tear leak from her eye. "Perhaps your girls would like it, a gift from their grandfather," Myrcella said softly, and Sansa nodded weakly.

"You have no idea what this means to me," she said, "truly Myrcella, this is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me, thank you."


Myrcella paused in the entrance hall to compose herself, taking a deep breath and smoothing out the skirts of her dress. She rearranged her fur stole about her neck and conjured up all of Sansa's soothing words in her head. Somehow she forced her hands to come still at her sides instead of twisting around one another nervously. Finally, before she could duck out and flee back to her room, she raised her head high and walked purposefully through the double doors that led into the dining hall. It was full of people, but the happy murmur and chatter seemed to dim just a fraction when she walked in. She tried not to notice the way people would put their heads together and whisper behind their hands as she walked by. It would be better for her if she didn't know what they were saying about her, she knew that the words would not be favourable ones. Instead she kept her eyes on the high table, seeking out an empty place, and finally seeing one on the end, next to Bran.

Once she was married, her rightful place would be to the right of the King, but his mother occupied that space at present, and though Myrcella imagined that Lady Stark would gladly give it up, she felt it likely that the King would not have asked her to. Besides, she couldn't help but feel as though it may be the best thing for both of them to put a little distance between them for the time being so they could both sort out what was within their heads. With another calming breath she confidently approached the space next to Bran, wondering if she was imagining the quiet, insistent tones of Lady Stark. "May I?" she asked Bran brightly when she reached his side.

"Of course, princess," he smiled widely at her, "I would pull your chair out for you, if I were able." He didn't say the words with bitterness, rather with a teasing undertone, and a flickering glance towards his older brother.

Myrcella pretended she hadn't noticed the look, and she herself refused to glance at the King. Instead, she merely smiled widely at Bran before pulling the chair out herself and sliding into place. Her nerves were piqued enough without her heaping more humiliation on herself by standing stupidly in the vain hope that the King might get up and pull her chair out for her. "Thank you," she said to Bran in an undertone as she settled herself in her seat. He merely inclined his head in response as a servant approached to pour wine into Myrcella's waiting glass. She thanked the girl when she was done, gaining a rather cold smile in response before the girl scurried back out of sight. Myrcella vaguely wondered what tales she would spin to the other kitchen maids later once the feasting was over. She quickly decided that she didn't care, she had enough troubles to contend with regarding her coming marriage.

"Are you still studying your stars, Bran?" Myrcella politely inquired, reaching forward to take a sip of her wine, hoping that the action would quell the shake in her hands.

"Yes," he replied, "though I must confess, I do not think I am able yet to decipher the future." He grinned at that, and she couldn't help but laugh lightly.

"Another week and I imagined you will know all there is to know," she said certainly, and it was his turn to laugh.

"You know, I found a book that you might like," Bran said, and she turned to him in surprise.

"Really?" she asked, a slight smile playing about her lips.

"I remembered the last time you came that you enjoyed reading about adventures," he said, "they are all tales from the North, so I thought you may not have read them."

"Thank you, Bran," she said sincerely, "that is ever so thoughtful of you." He merely smiled and nodded slightly in response, leaning forward in his own chair to reach his own glass of wine. His action created a clear gap through which Myrcella saw the King quickly looking away from their direction. She swallowed hard and averted her own eyes, her heart thumping in her chest.

"Come to the library tomorrow and collect it, if you'd like," Bran spoke again as he leaned back in his chair, the servants pouring in now to lay out their dinner for the night.

"I will," she said simply as various serving dishes were placed before them. Bran insisted that she serve herself first, and so she did, pulling some meat and various vegetables onto her plate before drizzling a little gravy over her meal.

There was relative silence within the dining hall as everyone ate, just a low buzz of chatter and the occasional burst of raucous laughter from one table or another. The atmosphere was so relaxed here, Myrcella just wished that she could feel the same. As she ate she was constantly paranoid that the King was looking at her, the tension in her rising higher as she thought of all the things that he himself could be thinking. She ate as quickly as she could without appearing unladylike, laying her knife and fork neatly across her empty plate when she was finished. As she reached for her wine she chanced a glance to her right and was pleased to see that she was not the only one who had cleared her plate. She supped down what was left of her wine before she leaned slightly closer to Bran. "Forgive me, I think I am going to retire for the night," she told him quietly.

"Already? Would you not stay for the sweet course?" he asked her, a slight frown creasing his brow.

"No," she shook her head, "I do not have the appetite for it." Bran seemed to understand, his head nodding slowly and his eyes searching her for a moment.

"I know you might not believe it now," he murmured, "but it will get better." She tried to smile at his words, hating the fact that hearing them made her eyes sting.

"Thank you," she managed, "I will see you tomorrow, to get that book." She nodded determinedly, and he inclined his head in turn.

"Goodnight, Myrcella," he smiled, his hand hesitantly coming to rest on hers for a moment.

"Goodnight, Bran," somehow she managed another smile before she slipped out of her chair. She decided to skirt the edge of the dining hall, having no desire to walk through the middle again and have everyone staring and whispering.

A few noticed her as she passed, but thankfully not many heads turned and she was soon safely back out in the entrance hall. Gods. She took a deep breath before making for the stairs. She knew that Sansa and Lady Stark had meant well, convincing her to join everyone for dinner, but Myrcella already knew that there was little chance of her doing so again. Not unless the King showed any inclination at all that he would like her to. She almost laughed at that, a tiny snort escaping her as she made her way down the hallway towards her chamber. Once inside she began loosening the ties of her dress, shrugging her stole to the floor and crossing to the bed. She pulled back the layers of furs and pulled out her nightdress, which she kept beneath them to keep warm. Once her dress and shift fell to the floor she shivered slightly despite the fire in the grate.

Quickly she pulled the nightdress over her head and padded towards the hearth. The fire was going well enough, but she had learned quickly that if she did not stock it well with wood before going to sleep that her chamber would be freezing cold come morning. She threw as many logs into the grate as would fit, wondering what her mother would say if she could see her tending to her own fire. The thought made her smile wryly as she rose back to her feet and turned towards bed. She had barely lay a hand on the furs when a soft knock came at the door. A frown creased her brow at once, and she quickly moved to take her robe down from the hook and wrap it around her. Once it was securely tied she went to open the door, blinking stupidly when she saw who was on the other side.

"Your Grace," she finally found her voice and her manners, dropping into a curtsey before him.

"Please, there is no need," he said awkwardly, and she rose back up, her cheeks burning.

"I wasn't expecting you," she stuttered out, lifting her eyes again, this time noticing that he had Sansa's doll in his possession. She couldn't help but frown, and he clearly noticed, an odd half smile twitching at his lips.

"May I?" he nodded through the door and she hesitated. She knew it was not right for a man to be in a lady's chambers beyond a certain hour, especially when said lady was in her nightclothes. This was no mere man though, it was the King in the North. Her betrothed. She swallowed hard before nodding shyly, stepping aside to allow him to stride in. Again she hesitated, taking a calming breath before she closed the door and turned to face the King.

"Sansa gave it to me," he looked down at the doll, and Myrcella followed his line of sight, seeing how his knuckles were stretched white where he was holding it so tightly.

"Why?" she asked before she could stop herself. The King stepped a little closer to her at her question, and she raised her head and forced herself to meet his piercing blue gaze.

"She was genuinely touched by your gift," the King told her sincerely, "but the longer she had in her possession, the more memories came back for her that she would rather not think on."

"Oh," Myrcella said in a tiny voice, her eyes stinging again.

"It was a truly kind thing you did," he continued as she averted her eyes, "but she did not think she could stand to see her daughters playing with it. Though it was no fault of hers, she still blames herself for our father's death, and she torments herself over how she treated him at the Capitol." Myrcella swallowed hard, though his words were soft and reassuring she could not help but feel terrible for conjuring up so many awful memories for Sansa. She had truly thought she had been doing her a kindness. She took a shuddering breath before she raised her eyes to the King's again.

"I will apologise to her tomorrow, your Grace, you have my word," she promised him, and he frowned.

"You have nothing to apologise for," he said, shaking his head, "you did something nice and thoughtful. You could not have known how it would be received, and I assure you, Sansa is not seeking an apology. If anything, she asked me to apologise to you if you thought her ungrateful." Myrcella's eyes widened at that, and she shook her head firmly.

"No," she said, "no, that is the last thing I think. Lady Sansa has been most kind to me, the last thing I wanted was to cause her any upset."

"Then it appears the only one of us with an apology to make is myself," he said quietly, and she couldn't help but stare at him.

"Your Grace?" her tone was questioning, her heart pounding irrationally hard in her chest.

"I said some unforgivable things yesterday," he said, "I never meant for you to overhear them, though that is no excuse. I should have never uttered them in the first place, it was selfish and unkind of me. I can only hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive me." Myrcella could do nothing but stare at him for a long moment, before she finally came to her senses, blinking rather rapidly.

"Yes," she said, "no," she added quickly, "I mean…no, there is nothing to forgive, your Grace. I ought to apologise to you for what I said, I ought to have held my tongue. It was not right for me to speak to you the way I did."

"On the contrary, what you said was entirely right," he countered, "I have spent far too much time lamenting the future I could have had when this is the one I agreed to. I'm afraid I have been altogether too selfish to consider your own feelings, and the fact that you had no say in the arrangement whatsoever. Though many tried to make me see it, I refused to hear them, but I heard you last night, princess. I truly am sorry."

"Perhaps," Myrcella bit her lip, seeing his eyes soft on hers as she met them. "Perhaps we could start again?" she suggested tentatively, hesitating for a moment before she shakily outstretched her hand to him. She was beyond relieved when he moved his own to take it. Out in the gardens she had been too surprised to note how his skin felt on hers, but now she noted it to be rough and calloused, though ever so warm.

"Your hands are warmer today," he commented in an amused tone, and she couldn't help but smile. His own lips twitched slightly in response, before he bent his head to press a kiss to the back of her hand for the second time. This time his lips lingered long enough for her to notice their softness, and the tickly warmth of his breath on her skin. When he pulled back he didn't drop her hand right away, instead he tugged lightly on it and pulled her back towards the bed.

Her heart pounded wildly, not quite sure what he was doing, but suddenly very aware of the fact that she was only clad in her nightclothes. Just as she was about to panic, and wondering how she would ever speak up to question him he let go of her hand and lowered himself onto the end of her bed. Her heartbeat slowly began to return to normal, and she almost laughed in relief as he patted the space next to him. She moved to sit, suddenly nervous again, and unsure of what to do with her hands. The King answered that silent conundrum in the next moment. "Here," he said softly, passing the doll back to her. She took it, her hands shaking slightly as she did so. "Would you tell me how you got it?" he asked, his tone almost longing. "Why my father gave it to you?"

"I was upset," she told him honestly.

"Why?" the King inquired, and she smiled wryly.

"Back then there was only ever one reason for anyone to be upset," she said bitterly, "Joffrey," she added when she caught sight of the King's frown. Understanding crossed his features, and she could see the sympathy in his eyes. Though they were a different colour entirely, she could see his father deep within them. "Your father came across me," she continued, "I tried to hide my upset, but I could tell that he did not believe me when I told him I was fine. He had the doll with him and so he offered it to me, he said that Sansa was too old for it and Arya had never had any patience for them. He said it would only go to waste if I didn't have it, and so I took it. That was the end of it, he gave me the doll, placed his hand on my shoulder, and that was the last time I ever spoke to him."

"And you kept it," the King said quietly, almost disbelievingly.

"Yes," she confirmed, her fingers playing with the fabric of the dress that the doll was clad in. "After…" she hesitated, biting down on her lip. "After what happened," she said meaningfully, "I…I didn't dare play with it anymore, in case my mother saw it. I could never lie to her, and if she had discovered that Lord Stark had given it to me then I don't doubt she would have taken it away. So I put it in a box, and I vowed that one day I would get it back to Sansa." The King was silent when she came to the end, and she dared turn her head to look at him, seeing him already watching her. Slowly he moved to take her hand again. This time he didn't bring it to his lips, merely squeezed it lightly in his own for a moment before he spoke.

"Thank you," he said simply, "truly, thank you."


A/N: There we go, we're making a little progress! More next weekend.

:)