A/N: New chapter everyone, hope you all enjoy!

Reader: Thank you very much, I'm glad you enjoyed it and I appreciate your words. Have no fear, I don't plan on changing my pacing, I definitely agree with you that the build-up is important. Glad you're enjoying it, and I hope you like this one.

unnamed visitor: Thank you! There is a tiny hint of romance perhaps, but they are definitely just friends for the time being. There is a long way to go, of course, but they are definitely taking positive steps and building some kind of bond.

dhh: I'm sorry you feel that way, but the pace is intentionally slow. Sorry if it's boring to you, but romance isn't going to flare up between these two right away. They have been in one another's presence for a few days, and there is far too much bad blood between their families for them to be in love with one another from the start. I think it would be unrealistic for them to be all over one another at this point. Being friends at this point is progress for them, very good progress. Again, with the jealousy, I don't see a need for it, it isn't the only way for people to fall in love. Sorry if you don't like the way I'm progressing with this, but I intend on sticking with my plan because in my mind it is realistic. Sorry if that's disappointing but there isn't much I can do about it. There will be romance, just not instantly.

Guest: Thank you! All will be revealed about Theon in time.

Boramir: Thank you! Indeed, he is somewhat lucky in that respect, but Myrcella lived with Joffrey so Robb is probably a pussy cat compared to what she put up with from him. Friendship is indeed a good place to start, glad you agree. Indeed, I completely agree with your comment about Robb having to be all these different things to different people. He needs someone he can be completely honest and himself with. It will take time, of course, but Myrcella may well end up being that person for him. As she should be, given that she will be his constant companion.

Right-ho folks, on we go!

:)


VII: Sharper Than Swords


Myrcella


When Myrcella woke she lay still in bed for a long while, just reassuring herself that the events of the previous day had actually happened. Robb, as she had been encouraged to call him now, had been ever so courteous and polite to her. And honest. It was the honesty that she appreciated more than anything else, the truth coming from him easily because she had asked him for it. He had not tried to coddle her or make excuses, he had just told her everything honestly, and that meant more than a thousand pretty words ever could. Another lady, she imagined, would have preferred a reassuring lie, but not her. She wanted the truth, even if it hurt, and she could not deny that his innermost feelings and fears about their potential children stung. She couldn't blame him. Joffrey had been a monster, why would he want a child of his to share that blood? It was just her misfortune that he had been her brother, that they had shared a mother and a father. Even dead he was still managing to make her life as difficult as possible.

She shoved the furs away from her, determined that she would not continue thinking of Joffrey. He had been cold for years, she was not going to let him continue his torment after all this time. She was determined just to think of Robb and his family. Already she seemed to have made good progress with Bran and Lady Stark, and she and Sansa had always had an understanding. Rickon seemed shy, though he had managed to smile tentatively at her on a few occasions. It was Arya who was the problem. It was quite clear that she did not like Myrcella one bit, and she was unsure how she was supposed to convince Robb's sister otherwise. She had hoped, perhaps naively, that if Arya saw that she was getting along better with Robb then she herself might thaw. Alas, it appeared to have done the opposite.

Arya had glowered all through dinner after Robb had changed the seating arrangements so Myrcella was sat to his right. Lady Stark had been happy to move down a space, and Myrcella had been quietly thrilled when Robb had pulled out her chair for her. They had spent the evening in contented conversation with one another, speaking of nothing of much importance. Myrcella couldn't help but think that the occasion had been soured for her somewhat by Arya's attitude, however. Each time Myrcella saw her in her line of sight she was scowling, and whenever she and Robb shared a laugh with one another her expression turned murderous. Robb had told her quietly not to let it bother her, but Myrcella couldn't help it. Was she supposed to just ignore it forever? It was not as though she had asked to come here, she was just making the best of the situation that had been thrust upon her.

Myrcella knew well enough that each and every one of the Starks had reason to despise her or her family, but if the others were willing to make an effort then why wouldn't Arya? She huffed in irritation, lacing up the bodice of her dress before snatching up her brush from the vanity, pulling it through her hair furiously. Today she would not stand for it, somehow she would have to show Arya that she was not the monster she most likely imagined her to be. Robb had seen it, and by his own admission he was stubborn. Though, by his own admission, Arya was even worse. Myrcella sighed heavily and decided not to dwell on it, placing her brush back down on the vanity before snatching up her stole and heading for the door.

Down the hallways she went, making her way to the main stairs that would take her down towards the dining hall. She had learned all the main routes around the keep by now, several of them she must have remembered because she had just instinctively known where to go. Robb had only had to steer her right a few times the day before when he had been showing her around everywhere. The only place they hadn't gone was the crypts. Myrcella had asked him if he would prefer for her not to go down there. He had told her that she was welcome to go wherever she pleased, but that he himself did not have the stomach to enter the crypts. From that she knew that he was still mourning the loss of his father, he didn't need to say it. It was obvious. Just as his mother's choice of black clothing was obvious. The loss here was still real, even after all the years that had passed.

Into the dining hall she went, her eyes immediately going to scan the high table. It was empty aside from Sansa and her husband. They were sat at one end of it, their elder daughter sat in Ser Olyvar's lap as Sansa leant in towards them and fussed over her. Myrcella imagined that baby Raya must be with her nurse. She was loath to disturb what was evidently a private family breakfast, but her stomach was snarling with hunger. Slowly she made her way up to the high table, intending to sit on the opposite end to Sansa and her family. Her future good-sister looked up as she came closer though, sending her a wide smile. "Myrcella, come and join us," she said warmly, "I do not think you have yet met Olyvar, and I know you haven't met Bethany."

"Thank you. I hope I'm not disturbing you," Myrcella replied, glancing towards Ser Olyvar and seeing that he was wearing a relaxed smile.

"Of course not," Sansa shook her head at once, and Myrcella moved to take the empty seat next to her.

"Can I pour you some wine, princess?" Ser Olyvar enquired and Myrcella smile.

"Thank you, Ser," she responded, and he smiled back, moving to pour her a glass. Little Bethany in his lap leaned forwards to try and snatch at the flagon as he moved it back down to settle on the table, a determined grunt leaving her.

"You are a little too young for wine, my dear," Ser Olyvar said in an amused tone, settling the flagon well out of her reach.

"She is into absolutely everything at the moment," Sansa said exasperatedly, but Myrcella didn't miss the affection underlying her tones.

"She's utterly beautiful," Myrcella told her honestly, and Sansa seemed to glow at the compliment.

Myrcella shifted slightly in her seat so she could fill her plate with breakfast, smiling slightly as Bethany began to babble away. If she strained her ears she could decipher at least every other word. Sansa and her husband seemed to understand her perfectly though, both chattering happily back to her. Myrcella was so pleased to see for herself how happy Sansa was. It had been after the dragons had come and were defeated that news had come that Sansa had been married to Robb's old squire. The match had placated the Freys somewhat, it was some consolation for them that they were once again married into royalty. Of course, they had desired a Frey woman in Myrcella's place, but her grandfather had flooded the Twins with gold to make old Walder relinquish his desire for a Frey queen. Myrcella had wondered, all those years ago, whether Sansa's match was a love match or if it were a political one.

Robb was also King in the Riverlands of course, and he would have to maintain good relations with them. Marrying his sister into one of the most prominent families would certainly do that. Seeing them together though, Myrcella suspected that it was not a political decision. There was clear love between them. She could see it in the way they looked at one another. The way they spoke to one another, and in the way they were with their daughter. She smiled slightly and began on her breakfast. If anyone deserved to marry for love it was Sansa. She vaguely wondered if the older woman had ever told her family the extent to which Joffrey made her suffer at the Capitol, if she had confided it to them, or perhaps to her husband. Myrcella hoped that she had confided in someone, it did no good to keep such things hidden inside. She knew that well enough.

"A letter came for you today," Sansa's voice pulled her away from her thoughts and away from her breakfast.

"For me?" Myrcella repeated, wondering who would have written. Tommen? Her mother? She had sent word of her safe arrival when she had settled in on that first day. It seemed that someone had decided to reply to her after all.

"Robb took it," Sansa told her, "he said he would make sure you got it, in case no one was here when you came down to break your fast."

"How thoughtful of him," Myrcella smiled slightly, ashamed at the slight feeling of uneasiness that crept into her stomach. Of course Robb would give her the letter, he would not have told everyone that he would otherwise, would he? They had agreed yesterday that it was always best to be truthful with one another. She bit her lip, wondering if he would read the letter. Surely he wouldn't. She would know if he had anyway, he would have to break the seal, and there was no way that he could reseal it without her noticing. She shook her head slightly. It did no good to have suspicions like this. Suspicions like this belonged in the Capitol, not up here in the North. This was an honest country, she knew that just as well as she knew that the grass grew green. It was foolish to think otherwise. She would see Robb later and he would give her the letter, and that would be the end of that.


Myrcella had done her best to find Robb, without actually telling anyone that she was looking for him. It was to no avail though, he was in none of the public places that she could go, and if she went to his study or to the council chambers then he would know that she was looking for him. Eventually she gave up, deciding that he would find her whenever he had a free moment. It was easy sometimes to forget that he was a king, and she knew well enough that he would have extra responsibilities now that winter was on the way again. She sighed as she made her way outside, her eyes finding one of the direwolves. It was the black one, Rickon's if she remembered rightly. She had yet to meet any of the others and it had confused her. Lady Stark told her that Robb had kept them away from her sight on purpose, in case she were averse to them.

While Myrcella was touched at the thoughtfulness she did want to tell him that there was no need. Everyone knew the tales, Robb and his own wolf, Grey Wind, had been nigh on inseparable throughout the war. He had gone into battle with the beast at his side, and had it not been for the wolf's interjection then that dragon may well have finished him off. Myrcella shuddered involuntarily at the thought, refusing to dwell on why. That thought would only lead to more confusion, and her head was already full of a thousand and one contradicting thoughts. If I care for him, will I be betraying my family? She shook her head, forcing the thought away as she came to a halt by the flickering lamps that stood on either side of the entrance to the crypt. Robb had said she was welcome to enter them, but she was still wary, casting a nervous look about her before taking a breath and slipping inside.

The light was dim, and for a moment she was blind until she blinked everything slowly back into focus. It was cold here, and the air seemed heavy. When she took a breath it all smelled damp and musty. There was a steady drip of water that calmed her nerves somewhat as she took the steps down one at a time. When she reached the even ground again she glanced ahead of her. Alcoves lined the walls, each one with a flickering lamp lit above it and an effigy placed atop the stone slab. The first of them were kings from long ago, before the dragons had come the first time. Myrcella's footsteps echoed ominously as she walked further, going passed king after king until she came upon Torrhen. The King who kneeled. She could hardly blame him. She had seen the skulls of the first dragons, it was not hard to imagine the bodies that had come with them. The wings. The fire. She shuddered again and walked away from Torrhen.

Now came lord after lord. She walked slowly, inspecting their carved effigies. Even though they were made of stone she could see the familiarity between them. She could tell that they had all been kin. When she came upon Lord Rickard Stark she paused, knowing who would be coming next. She took a breath, appreciating now why Robb had not wanted to show her this place. It was bad enough for her, and she had barely known Lord Stark. She forced her feet onwards, having come this far she wanted to reach the end, to pay her respects whether they would be appreciated or not. She walked slowly passed Brandon Stark and Lyanna Stark, remembering that Robb's father had broken tradition by having them buried here in the crypts. Then he himself came, the engraving more freshly carved and easy to read than the others had been.

Myrcella looked up at the effigy, smiling slightly as she saw how well his likeness had been carved. It was fine stonework, whoever had crafted it was obviously skilled indeed. Her fingers went to trace the words, wondering vaguely if they had been chipped into the stone by the same man. "Don't you dare touch that," the voice was low and threatening and Myrcella moved her hand away at once. She swallowed hard and turned away from Lord Stark's resting place to find herself face to face with his younger daughter.

"Forgive me," she said at once, "I meant no offence, my lady."

"What are you doing here?" Arya's voice was at once scathing and suspicious, and Myrcella knew that she would likely not be leaving this place on friendly terms with her. She could try though, surely? There could be no harm in trying.

"I was just paying my respects, Robb said it would be alright," Myrcella answered her, knowing at once that it was not what Arya had wanted to hear. Her grey eyes had flashed almost dangerously when she had uttered Robb's name.

"What do you know about respect, Lannister?" Arya practically spat the word and Myrcella had to force herself not to flinch away from her.

"I know what my family has been guilty of, but I had no part in it Arya, you cannot think that I could condone –"

"Save your false courtesies," Arya cut across her, "you may have my mother and the rest of them fooled, but you don't fool me. Whatever game you have come here to play I will scupper it, you mark my words." Myrcella frowned, hearing the threat in her tone but also something underlying it that sounded almost fearful.

"Game?" Myrcella repeated, her frown sinking deeper into her forehead.

"Don't play innocent," Arya scoffed, "Joffrey did the same when you were here last, wrapping Sansa up in his charm and twisting her around his fingers. I can see you doing the same to Robb, and I won't let you do to him what Joffrey did to Sansa."

"Joffrey was a monster," Myrcella snapped, "he may have been my brother, but I am nothing like him. Believe me, my lady, no one knows better than I what Joffrey did to Sansa. I was there, remember, I was with her at the Capitol the entire time. I saw things no child should see, and I would no doubt have seen a whole lot more if Joffrey hadn't died when he did. You are not the only people who have suffered at his hands, no one was safe. Not even his own family." With that Myrcella made to move passed Arya so she could leave the crypt, but her wrist was snatched almost painfully to stop her leaving. She wrenched it from Arya's grip and stared at her.

"Just stay away from here, let my father rest in peace," Arya told her menacingly.

"I am not the enemy, Arya," Myrcella implored her, "your father was always very kind to me. I know you won't believe me, but I did not rejoice nor revel in his death. I was a child, a child who had just lost her own father."

"Oh please," Arya scoffed, rolling her eyes, "everyone in Westeros knows that your father is still well and truly alive." Myrcella stared at that, she could do nothing else. She had heard the whispers and seen the looks. She wasn't stupid, she knew what they said about her mother and her Uncle Jaime. Her nails dug hard into the palms of her hands as she clenched her fists tightly. Never had she thought that it would be thrown at her by a member of the Stark family. She had expected gossip from the servants, whispers and giggles hidden behind hands. That she could have dealt with. This. She shook her head slightly and turned on her heel, marching back through the crypts with her heart pounding in her ears.

Her eyes were stinging when she emerged back into daylight, a combination of her rising emotion and the sudden brightness of the outside world. She took deep breaths, determining to calm herself down as she slowly unclenched her fists. Her palms were stinging and she looked down vaguely, seeing that she had drawn blood from a few of the little crescents set into her skin. The pain was nothing though, just a vague sting that dulled into nothingness when compared to how hard Arya's words had hit her. Had she said it out of spite? Or was that what they all secretly thought? What Robb thought? She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as tears threatened to spill from her, counting to ten over and over in her head. "Close your eyes and cover your ears, count to ten slowly in your head and it will be over, Tommen. I promise you."

It had always calmed her brother, but it was not working for her now as Arya's words resounded more and more loudly inside her head. A hand on her shoulder almost made her jump out of her skin, and she turned quickly, her eyes wide and shining. "Myrcella?" Robb's voice was laced with concern and it was almost enough for her to surrender to the tears. She wondered if he would comfort her, if he would go so far as to put his arms around her. Her eyes took in the vastness of him. He was not the tallest man but he had over a head on her, but what he lacked in height he made up for in bulk. It was muscle, she knew, not fat the way her father always denied he was. Her father. Just thinking that made her want to break down and cry. Robb's hand came under her chin and she flinched slightly without meaning to. "You have a pretty enough face now, but do you imagine any man wanting a scarred bride?!" She shuddered, blinking away the flash of silver.

"Myrcella, has something happened? Has someone hurt you?" Robb's tone was soft but insistent and she shook her head automatically. Her eyes found Arya emerging from the crypts and she swallowed hard, averting them back to Robb and hoping that he hadn't noticed her momentary distraction. She ought to have known that he would have, he seemed incredibly astute at times. This appeared to be one of those times. He turned to look over his shoulder, doubtless seeing Arya disappearing around the corner. "What did she say to you?" he asked her in a slightly exasperated manner when he turned back to face her. Myrcella swallowed, wondering how honest she should be with him. If she told him the whole truth then she would be bringing up the unspoken subject of the rumours of her parentage. She wasn't sure she was ready for that yet, but on the other hand, she couldn't ignore it forever. It was already nagging at her now that Arya had broached the subject, and she was desperate to know what Robb thought of it.

"I went down to the crypts," Myrcella answered him, "I explained that you had given me leave but…but I suppose it was just my bad luck that she came across me as I reached where your father rests." Understanding crossed Robb's features, and for a moment it looked as though he wanted to step closer to her. He stood his ground though, and Myrcella knew that it was very wrong of her to have wanted him closer. She swallowed, remembering the warmth of his hand and thinking about how easily she would be lost in his embrace. "…hear me now, you must never, ever show him any weakness. No tears. No affection." What if her mother was wrong? It was no secret that her marriage was an unhappy one, Myrcella had even heard some rather disturbing rumours that she had engineered her father's accident. She pushed it away. It did no good to think of things like that. Not now. Not now when she needed to focus on Robb.

"I can well imagine," he said sympathetically, and she smiled weakly for him.

"I'm not sure it endeared me to her, but I'm fine, I promise you," she tried to sound reassuring. My first lie to him, and we are not even wed yet.

"I can tell you don't want to tell me everything," he said knowingly, "and I won't push you on it, but don't promise me. Don't lie." And he sees right through it. Through me.

"She mentioned my mother, and my uncle," she blurted out before she could stop herself and Robb's eyes widened. "I've heard the rumours, heard them whispered a thousand times," Myrcella continued, unable to stop now. "I don't know what the truth is, I only know what I have always been told. Robert Baratheon was my father, though I know well enough I favour my mother, I don't…" she paused to take a deep breath. "I don't know what is true and what is not, and it matters not to me either way. I would rather live in ignorance where this is concerned, but you…how does it make you feel?"

Robb stared at her intently for a long moment, and she could feel her hands begin to shake. Before she could clench them together to stop them he had taken them in his own. A frown creased his brow, and before she could snatch her hands away from him he had turned them over to inspect her palms. She swallowed hard as he raised his eyes from the marks to her eyes. "You did this to yourself…" he shook his head slightly. "Why?" he asked, the simple question setting her bottom lip trembling.

"It's just…" she shook her own head, trying to find the right words. "I used to try and keep Tommen from Joffrey, Joffrey was terrible to him. More terrible than he ever was to me, because he knew that Tommen would never fight back," she explained. "So I had to fight back for him, to stand between them and shield him."

"I don't…" Robb tailed off, shaking his head, and Myrcella knew that he didn't understand.

"I wasn't as fearless as I pretended to be," she met his eyes, "only, I had to be or Joffrey would have just brushed me aside, or worse. If I didn't do this," she flexed her fingers to show him what she meant, "then my whole body would shake. It's an instinct. A habit I haven't been able to break. Whenever I'm scared, or whenever I feel my composure slipping I do it. It's a reflex, I can't help it. I don't usually draw blood, but…" she trailed off, averting her eyes.

"But what Arya said really upset you," he finished for her, and she forced herself to meet his eyes again.

"Part of me wanted to lash out," she confessed, she didn't seem to be able to help herself when she looked into his eyes. They made her want to confess all of her long buried secrets when she met them.

"Believe me," Robb smiled slightly, "you are neither the first nor the last person who has wanted to lash out at Arya."

"You never answered my question," she reminded him softly and his lips twitched up.

"I thought it would bother me," he said, "but whatever the truth is, whoever your parents are, I don't care. Perhaps I should, but I don't, not now that you're here and I'm coming to know you. I will never make any secret of the fact that I despise your mother, but I know that you are nothing like her. I'm sorry to speak ill of your family in your presence, and I will try and refrain from it. Whatever they did to me, they are your kin and you doubtless have love for them. I will try and remember to consider that, as you will have to try and make allowances and considerations for Arya's lack of tact. Or her outright rudeness, in this case. I will have a word with her, Myrcella. I am not ignorant to the fact that people talk, and I know that you aren't either, but you should not have to face it from someone who will soon be kin to you."

"Thank you, Robb, truly…thank you," she nodded her head vigorously, still determined not to let the tears fall.

"There is no need to thank me, it is the least I can do," he said warmly, and she managed a smile for him, though the corners of her mouth twitched painfully with the effort. "A letter came for you today," he continued, letting go of her hands so he could reach into his cloak to pull it out. "Perhaps I could escort you back to the keep and you can read it in peace?" he suggested, and she nodded, taking the letter he outstretched to her. He offered his arm once she had taken it, and she lay her hand on his forearm, falling into step with him as they crossed to the keep. As they walked she turned the letter in her hand and glanced down at the seal. It was the royal seal and it was shiny and unbroken. A tiny smile graced her lips as she took in the sight, and she felt incredibly foolish for ever doubting he would deliver it to her unopened.


A/N: Hope you all enjoyed, more same time next week!

:)