I, Myrcella Baratheon, sat at the head of the small council table which included Jon Arryn, Petyr Baelish, Varys, Maester Pycelle, Stannis and Renly Baratheon, with my mother Cersei and the Lord Commander, Ser Barristan Selmy.

"Such a tragedy," I began.

The room was silent, and then I spoke up.

"Naturally, a coronation must be held. Of course, the realm will ask that I find a prince consort and make heirs. Primarily, however - "

I glanced to Ser Barristan.

"Lord Commander, your service to the crown knows many of your exploits."

"T-thank you, Your Grace."

"Your sword arm has toppled many an opposition to it."

"Th - "

"Truly, that you would obey any command from Robert, and now from me, is a just service of your honor and word."

"Y - "

"Kill Petyr and Varys."

The blood flowed as did the shock from the remainder, and Ser Barristan dragged the bodies out, to resume by my side.

Cersei spoke first. " Myrcella! "

"They were traitors, and by which means is not necessary," I sighed. "We will need a new master of coin and master of whispers. I propose uncle Tyrion for the former, and my mother for the latter."

Cersei frowned, then glowed. There was muttering from Stannis and Renly. I glanced around the table.

"Well, Lord Arryn? You must have in mind already, a list of suitable candidates for my Prince Consort?"

Jon Arryn cleared his throat.

"Suitable, yes, but many are heirs to their father's castles… Willas Tyrell, Edmure Tully, Robb Stark, Quentyn Martell… though if you would prefer someone who is not a direct heir: Loras Tyrell, Bran Stark, Trystane Martell… "

I roused out of my reverie.

"I do have a direct heir in mind… "

The name was mentioned, the room paused, and Cersei was scornful of all. I turned to her.

"Mother, you might prefer remaining at Casterly Rock if that is your disposition."

I sat in the gardens of King's Landing, overlooking Blackwater Bay, with many of my ladies tittering, and then there were footsteps and a number of guards passed. I held my stomach, and the guards parted to reveal a man with red hair, tall and devout, and our conversation was short, and then I dismissed him with a smile.

"Your Grace," smiled Sansa Stark, new to court. "You have every luxury. The Prince Consort, and he to deliver you of your child - do you have any more lemon cakes?"

"Oh, Sansa," I giggled, "Just like his sigil - though I should not speak this so - alike the burning tree, he is as a large as, and makes me feel warm inside."

I giggled at the looks on my ladies' faces.

"Now do finish your sewing, for Sansa , I have a match in mind for you ."