Summer eyes

by ihaveastorminme

A sister for a kingslayer; a princess for a kingdom. A precarious alliance forged through a marrige, and a union that would become as undestroyable as it would be unmendable. "-so soon have you forgotten the promise i made you?"...where you go i shall go; where you die i shall die and there shall i be buried.' Her hiss drew blood: "You lied then. You lie now." (minor jonXsansa)

11. The secret of Joy

8. The secret of joy… is a mastery of pain[1]

"I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship; and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon. …Truth. What ferocity in your quest of it. You destroy and you suffer. In some strange way I am not with you, I am against you. We are destined to hold two truths. I love you and I fight you. And you, the same."

Anais Nin

Myrcella had not wanted to miss dinner. Nobody would have the pleasure of saying she was hiding, afraid or repentant, because it would be an insult to her, but also - and most importantly - because she was neither. That more than anything was why she had cut her ride short; though short was a term some would not use so liberally since she had spent the whole day outside without a single thought of the consequences.

Consequences are not for princes, her mother's voice whispered in her head, snidely. Myrcella rolled her eyes.

Yeah right. There's a tactic could get you dead half-a-hundred different ways.

But even though she could - and would - show them a princess who knew no fear, once she felt her usual self again, Myrcella realized that what she had done had flied in the face of all the conduct she had beforehand chosen to keep. All the impression she had wanted to create.

She had been such a fool, hadn't she? As if she could manage to wear only half the shades of her personality like a glove and hope not to slip up. Hope! Ridiculous. She should have learned better by now – Dorne had taught her better. Had she so quickly forgotten? She had been submitted to so many flavours of shame, humiliation, betrayal… and even after thinking herself tempered, she still had not been able to moderate her reaction to those very same emotions. Such a waste. Her own pain, a wasted lesson. Myrcella had thought she'd known better but she was still such a child sometimes. A silly girl, with silly notions, who never learns![2]

By all means, it was not with her actions she took issue, but rather with the drive behind them. That was her problem: outside in that courtyard, it had not been logic that drew Myrcella's course of action and brought it to its completion, but rather a recklessness that boiled in her veins like hidden poison and which, on rare occasions, made her utterly thoughtless despite her best intentions. It was the same impulse that had once possessed her when she was barely more than a child – that time when she gave into it and jumped off a cliff and straight into the sea, just because she had wanted to know what it was to fly and someone told her she could not. Daring something insurmountable pushed by a desire without reason, by a gleeful disrespect of fear – that sensation was the closest she had been to pure freedom. That same whimsical feeling did not seem to exist anywhere else but for in that moment between when her feet left the rock and hit the water; or when riding so fast that the world blurs, or when smashing all expectations and acting out the deepest of her heart's desire.

It was strange sometimes, thinking to the contradictions that made her person: Myrcella found peace in self-possession. Controlled and calculating and fiercely her own - that was who she was… but she also was addicted to the opposite, every once in a while. And the corner of her heart, which yarned for these unhinged things, frightened her deeply, because she knew where that this seed of recklessness came from: it was in her blood. She had recognised it in her mother, in what she knew of her father – her true father. Of their offsprings, Tommen was the only one to be spared and for that as well, Myrcella loved him best.

She was better than her family at ruling her impulses… but better than brother (or mother or father), was 'drier than the sea': could not stand for much. But she supposed it came down to control. Will over desire, mind over matter - just like uncle Tyrion always said. Because Myrcella was not quick to forget the warning he had given her not so long ago: that both fearlessness and idiocy could lead to unforgivable mistakes with the same efficiency. That sometimes, they were one and the same.

ooo

Because of his damnable luck, he was with none other than the Sand Snakes when he was told of what the princess had done (though he had known it already of course – had seen it happen through wolfish eyes). And it was so that from a discussion about troupe movements and supply lines, Robb found himself in the middle of a second family dispute. But what drew his attention was the loud and cheerful laugh that the Obara Sand gave - which despite its harshness, was an improvement, considered how thunderous she had looked only a moment before, refusing to speak to her father and sister entirely even though they were sharing the same table.

Obara's smile had been feral when Robb asked her of the reason for her mirth, her savage satisfaction managing to make her look a touch maniacal.

"A dagger through a hand is nothing. The last man that did Myrcella that kind of disrespect was not so lucky." Obara's smile was as cutting as usual. "A slice through his face on the other hand, is merely poignant; Myrcella's sense of humour has always been a little twisted."

"You always defend her! Always. It sickens me." The lady Tyene hissed from the side. Her temper had yet to cool off. "The pity she has instilled in your heart would be better used if you turned it to your family."

The sisters had exchanged a hard stare and the eldest Sand Snake was as harsh in her appraisal of her sister as lady Tyene was of her.

"Any capacity for pity I may have been born with has withered away very fast Tyene; and even if I had any in me, I would never waste it upon desert vipers." Her dark eyes narrowed. "You always were a sore loosed, sister. Learn to be wrong sometimes – it will do your pride some good."

And that was the last straw that made Tyene leave the room. It was only then that Obara turned to Robb and explained. That was what he liked about Oberyn's firstborn: she never needed to be asked.

"You see, Winter King, the last time the princess was provoked this shamelessly, she reacted in much the same way. The first time the offence was made, she obliged her manners by being high above it. The second time, she made her sentiments known in no uncertain way. And when the offence persisted in spite of it…" Obara's smile hinted at blood, and Robb knew without being told what had happened the third time.

Obara's mirth was nothing short of brutal."Well, she shoved a dagger through the perpetrator's eye socket. So you see, this Frey one is the lucky one." she finished, delighted and merry.

How so? Robb might have asked, but didn't. He knew what would be Obara Sand's response: 'He is still breathing' she would say. And perhaps she would be right.

"Oh no, Winter King, not because Aemon Frey is still alive. After all, Lord Xeon survived as well." Elia Sand pointed out calmly. Her eyes were as intent as her sisters, though much more controlled. But it was only when he noticed that subtle pleading note in those dark depths, that Robb realized the girl's true intent. It was not justifications she wanted to provide, but rather something much more important: she wanted to give him the means to understand why, something that so far, none had bothered with. "Myrcella never meant to kill either of them. Death is pointless, uncle Doran always says and Myrcella has always listened to my uncle. That was why she took Lord Xeon's eye. And she said to him, 'The next time you believe anything you see is yours for the taking, I will take your other eye, so that you may never see anything else again.'"

oOo

As she looked at herself in the mirror, Myrcella remembered that Arianne had always disliked the way green looked on her. 'It makes you look like a predator,' she used to say, appreciative and critical at the same time. '… with those eyes so green they're about to pop out of your skull.' And she would come close and whisper words, like secrets: 'Don't overplay your strengths, little cub - use them. You should never let them see you coming..'

But tonight was not one of those nights. Myrcella didn't want to hide; she wanted people to look at her and flinch. No need to wear red for that either. Myrcella was not so blunt; she preferred being cunning.

In the end, it was gold and green and wildfire eyes that stared back at her form the mirror. Scars and pink lips and hard-set jaw. This was a hungrier creature, sharper and paler than her own self. Weariness gave way to more edges than Myrcella normally possessed, something that she'd never liked about herself. Tonight, it proved convenient.

She walked out of her room and through the keep's corridors knowing that nothing she did tonight would go unseen: she had maimed one of the king's soldiers – a close kinsman to the previous queen, no less. She had disappeared all day, taking permission from nobody and reappeared only when it suited her. Add to all that the fact that she was making no attempt to appear repentant, on the contrary she was blatantly showing off – well, it only added insult to injury didn't it?

Were it so that she could do so much more than that…

That laughter still echoed in her steps. She had tried so hard not to think on it, but now that she was back with these people she could not stop. She had hoped that in time and with perseverance, she could gain their respect, but is she had to choose, she'd rather be fiercely hated and feared, than laughed at.

How dare they snicker behind her back! By what right?

Myrcella had rolled her eyes at her grandfather's distaste for laughter once, but now… now that she knew how a mocking chuckle behind her back could feel like a roach was crawling along her nape... now she could understand how the urge to cut off someone's lips every time they sneered could be born. It was a feeling that grew slowly really, feeding on insecurities and that fierce sense of injustice, of entitlement. It fed on pride most of all, Myrcella knew that. And did not care. She would not be cutting anyone's lips off any time soon however. She'd have to be more subtle than that. She would do it the same way uncle Tyrion would: carefully, looking at the future and not missing the opportunity once it came. She might even have thought to act as her grandfather would. After all, there was nothing anyone could say against the man's brutal effectiveness. His solutions always worked, even when the situation was not in his favour: Myrcella being in Riverrun, about to be married to a king when said king had been all but winning the war, was the ugly proof of it.

But Twin Lannister was too cold, too hard. Myrcella did not want that. She never had. And it frightened her sometimes, how easily inclined towards it she was. It seemed to be a trait common to the Lannisters of the Rock.

Is cruelty in our blood? Is that the reason?

Myrcella knew it wasn't. Tommen was living proof of it. He was many things, both good and bad, but there was not a single ounce of cruelty in him, not even a tiny freckle. It had always comforted Myrcella to know that. It had always meant hope.

Which was why she was calm as she walked down with countless eyes upon herself. Why her unflinching eyes never faltered.

"You have some nerve daring to show your face here, after what you did."

Myrcella looked to her left to see one of the nobles whom she did not remember the name of: a lean man of average height, with a dark beard and hair of the same brown shade, and small glinting eyes that looked at her in anger. He was a riverlander, one of the southern lords, but she could not recall his name. She could not tell if he was a Frey either. He might have been. It mattered not.

"I dare everything, my lord - it is my prerogative." And she did sound so very sure of it. It was a joy to be her own mistress again. "But I do not however, understand your meaning." Even though she understood it perfectly.

The man's scowl deepened.

"Bastards don't sit with kings." He insisted then, though Myrcella noticed immediately that he dared not make a scene by raising his voice even a little. His pride must be pushing him, but he did not have enough balls to be forthright about it, did he… Her smile got sharper, and less of a smile. She felt her eyes narrow down their focus on this man, and he felt it too.

"Perhaps you're not so well-versed in history: they do, and they have. But even if that were not the case, it makes no matter to me."

I am not here as a bastard, she would have liked to say. I am here as a princess. Not that she expected him to see the difference.

The Lord opened his mouth to say something else, and the angry red of his face might have led him to abandon caution after all, but he never got his chance, because someone else intervened for him. This one she knew immediately: Eddard Karstark… and immediately she dreaded him.

"There, there, Walder, let's not be rude. You are speaking to a lady - and a princess, my good man. Do remember your manners."

Myrcella was not thrown at all: she knew insincerity when she saw it. It wasn't as if Karstark was trying so hard to hide it either. He was amused about something but his grey eyes dead serious and they glinted with maliciousness when he looked at her.

"Did you enjoy your ride, your grace?" he asked then, almost in good nature.

"I did, my lord." Neutrality was always best when one was walking blind.

"I assumed so. You were gone a long time, after all. You must not have heard the news, I suppose."

Her eyes narrowed minutely.

"A raven came from King's Landing, Princess." Karstark bluntly said then, when the silence told him that she would not be asking. Myrcella felt the pit of her stomach drop. There was only one kind of news form King's Landing that this man would take so great a pleasure in. Only one kind of news really, that mattered.

When she left, Stanis Baratheon had been expected to knock on the doors of the city within weeks.

It had been almost a month since she left…

Her heart stuttered in her chest. The borderline-compulsive need to know, warred inside her heart with her self-worth and her self-preservation. You can learn the details of it later. You can; you always have. But dignity once lost, was lost forever. And Myrcella could not afford to play herself into anyone's hands so easily, not now, not ever.

Not even for this…

Myrcella told herself that… and felt her heart flail in protest.

"I'm sure the contents of message were riveting. However I must graciously ask you to make your point, if you have one. I am rather hungry, you see, and would like to dine sometime tonight."

The stunned surprise that flickered in the large man's eyes was only vaguely amusing, before it turned wry. As if he knew some secret she did not.

"Are you truly not going to ask?" he plainly said then, something between amazement and wry amusement in his features.

Myrcella abandoned the lightness of her voice, all pretence was left behind. "I am never one to ask for anything, Lord Karstark. Speak if you will, or if not, get out of my way."

Anger was brief on that rough face, before it glowed with grim satisfaction.

"Stanis' fleet reached Blackwater something like a week ago, it seems. He laid siege to the city, stormed the gates with thousands of men. And your family… How can I put this…"

But there was no indecision in his tone. Only delight at the web he was spinning.

Myrcella felt her heartbeats grow wilder by the moment as the dread emptied her of feeling and weight entirely. She kept her breathing even, but it was only through the virtue of those sharp, well-cared nails biting deep in her palm that she did not reach out and sink those very same nails in that man's eyes and gouge them out. The bitter taste of hatred filled her mouth… Myrcella had rarely felt herself hate so, but when she did, she hated murderously.

You will never forget this, she told herself. You will never forget the look on his face now, how much he is enjoying this. Never. Now or fifty years from now, she would make him pay. Myrcella promised herself that. That promise was her consolation and - for the very first time - the yearning for that title, queen, kept her steady.

You will be queen. He will be yours to torment then…

"Your family is alive and well, princess."

Myrcella could not startle at this point - she could barely even move. But she knew his voice.

"Your mother and brother were unharmed, sealed within Meagor's Holdfast, I am told." The king continued, this time speaking directly to her, though it took Myrcella some moments and a good deal of persuasion to make herself look at him. Her scattered thoughts submitted to quietness once she could his ice-blue eyes. She needed to hear this. This first. All else, later.

"Your uncles both were out in defences of the city along with your grandfather." The king added.

Myrcella frowned through her confusion.

"Both?" Both her uncles? What…

The king smiled, amused. "Indeed, both. The Imp is said to have been at the forefront of the defences."

How I hate it when they call him that!

But instead of voicing this, Myrcella looked away. The king probably thought she was overwhelmed; Myrcella did not know how much her face had showed. She hoped it was little to nothing. She hoped they thought her as lifeless as rock. They will never taste my fear. Never. Even though she had been so close to screaming just a moment ago. Even now she still felt something like six inches behind herself even now.

"Stanis' fleet burned in the bay and when the soldiers landed, your grandfather and your uncle along with the Tyrell forces won the battle."

"How did it burn?" how could it?

"Wildfire." Was all the king said. Myrcella saw no deception in his eyes.

Wildfire…

"The Imp played his little trick." Lord Karstark said scornfully. "Thousands burned alive."

Myrcella knew disdain when she saw it and she saw it now in lord Karstark's eyes clear as day. She knew what she could say to cut, of course. Knew how to slap that same distain in his own face… but chose silence. She was so tired, of words too among other things. She felt so cold all of a sudden, where before the thin sheen of nervous sweat had coated her. It was as if her blood were retreating from every surface of her skin…

This had been, Myrcella admitted numbly, a very long day.

"A shame, I say." Lord Karstark continued. "I would have had a merry day knowing that Stanis went and took the Iron Throne. And what a sight his victory would have made: golden heads mounded on sharp spikes."

Her eyes landed on him sharply and Myrcella spared the man no measure of her disgust, as neither did he spar her any of his distain.

"If you had the chance to stop and think, Karstark, you'd realize that Stannis taking the Red Keep is not such a good thing for the North as you might imagine it being for yourself." The king said, and though there was nothing but cool detachment to what he said, there was such grimness to his tone that it made his words sound more like a warning than a simple statement.

"I do not see your meaning, your grace." Karstark countered through gritted teeth… and Myrcella felt she was suddenly in the middle of an old argument. The twinge of interest made itself known in her.

"And that is why I have always known you to be a blind bloody fool!"

The thundering voice made Myrcella look to her left immediately and it was only great fortitude that kept her from stepping back from the advancing man that looked half a giant. That and the words that Lord Umber had spoken with a laugh twirling around them. Lord Umber had never looked to be a quiet man and he was so big in body that his booming voice made sense, it matched him. Yet they way he looked at her, the laughter in his eyes that did not turn to sternness once he saw her, made Myrcella feel she should not so soon dread him just because of his size.

"You think Stanis Baratheon would ever stop at just the Red Keep? How long before he turned north and we'd have to go to war again, eh? Think about that for a tick: our blood-won peace gone, before a youngster like yourself can fart twice." His voice boomed and it gained quite the attention. "And with winter at our door and a man like bloody Stanis controlling every road from Dorne to the Neck, before victory we would sooner see starvation… or worse."

The murmur of approval was faint and almost unwilling, but it pierced through Myrcella's fogged up awareness for a short moment; enough for her to realize that where exactly she was standing… and with whom. Being beside the king and knowing the mind of his bannermen was what she had wanted all along, had it not been so? Now that she had it, she cared so little for it.

How quaint that the gods give us what he wished for in exactly the most unbearable form. …Ironic little fuckers.

Because though it had been her wish, all Myrcella could think on now was her proud mother, her uncles, even Joffrey, though he was an evil little monster most often than not. She was consumed with worry for Tommen, because nobody ever thought of mentioning him.

But if he were… if he were… they would mention him then, wouldn't they?

"Enough of this." The King said suddenly. "Princess, would you do me the honour?" and he offered his arm, which she took as if in a dream.

She thought of her mother, sealed inside the Keep, alone and in a restless fury as the battle raged outside. She thought of both her brothers by her mother's side, as Cersei waited to know if she would live or die. The sudden chill that gripped her heart was that of certainty, because Myrcella knew what a woman like her mother would think and do if she was afraid she might stand to lose everything she held dear. And fear bit her heart when Myrcella realized that yes, she too would take a blade to her own self rather than fall to the mercy of an enemy that would make a spectacle of her death. Myrcella did not possess the noble spirit of Elia Martell, and neither did her mother – may the gods damn them both. They were nothing but themselves, too much of themselves indeed.

Tommen, Tommen…

Her brother's face swam before her and she ached with a sorrow so deep it was hidden from tears[3], as she imagined him frightened, listening to the horror outside his rooms. Then her mind, cruel even to her own self, conjured the image of a shiny dagger or something smoother, painless as sweet poison, in Cersei Lannister's hand as desperation seized that dark heart… and it was then Myrcella tasted true fear: inconsolable and all consuming.

"Princess…" the voice came form so far, though he was so close. His doublet was smooth underneath her fingers, warm black wool. "Do you need to sit down, my lady? You look pale."

There was a slight tremor to her limbs and she was breathing without pattern. Distantly, Myrcella was aware of all this.

"I am well." She heard herself say.

You are not, his silence responded.

"Would you like a walk about the gardens for a few moments?"

I am so tired…

But she prized the chance to for privacy more than she did her own exhaustion. So she said yes, and that is how they found themselves walking about the gardens as the King told her that her mother was seemingly unharmed, how her uncle Tyrion had devised a clever plan for taking away the ships from Stanis Baratheon and dealing a fatal and irreparable blow to him that way, and how Jamie Lannister had sustained several injuries but none were life-threatening. Your brother is said to be unharmed as well he said and when there was silence after that Myrcella realized that no, of course he did not mean Tommen; he meant Joffrey. Joffrey was 'her brother' to him, when Myrcella had not referred to him as such in a while. The only one she thought of as 'my brother' was Tommen. Joffrey was a king. He could not have sisters.

She finally found her voice.

"You said, your grace, that it was my uncle who wrote the missive."

The king nodded. Myrcella knew she was not imagining the worry in his eyes but she had no though for him at the moment.

"Are you sure he did not mention Tommen? He must have said something of him." Myrcella was sure of it. None like uncle Tyrion seemed to understand just how much Myrcella loved her little brother.

"He wrote that your family and all whom you love are safe and sound, princess." Was all he could say, but at those words Myrcella took a full breath and felt it finally reach her lungs.

'…all whom you love'

Those were so few, back in King's Landing. But if it had to exist, love was always mean to be a secret – uncle Tyrion understood that better than most. He had known that her letter would reach foreign eyes before it ever made it to her hand: he had not wanted to give away her weakness so easily.

It was only when her thoughts quieted that Myrcella realize that every noise and thought she'd had, had been amplified into a scream in her head, pushing her to distraction. Time had slowed as she dwelled inside her head, and now it came back with a vengeance… and it was only then really that Myrcella could find a thought or two to spare for the man by her side. She thanked him for his words of comfort; didn't make mention of the raven that she should have gotten, of the privacy that had been defied – Myrcella saw this leniency as a great indulgence on her part, to repay the king for the kindness he did her back there, in front of Eddard Karstark and his slow torment.

My debt is paid, she told herself.

It must not have been so easy for him, telling her those things. She mentioned as much, but the king denied it. His eyes were so intent on her, she thought she might catch him trying to break her open and poke the insides for better understanding.

"They are your family." He stated, as if it was a law of nature. "You have the right to know their fates."

Myrcella sighed and opened her mouth to answer, but he raised a hand to stop her.

"I do enjoy our conversations princess, but though I would like speaking to you of whatever you wish, I'm afraid we are being waited on. Would you like to join me in my solar after dinner?"

Would she? She was already tiered enough to kneel over from it. But she did not believe in delaying the inevitable. This had to happen it might as well be tonight.

"Of course, your grace."

oOo

The knock was decided, but not loud enough to grate. It sounded twice and then no more until he invited her to enter. He saw her stop with a hand on the handle, quick eyes taking in everything and then pausing, startled out of their weariness.

"I can come back later, your grace." She said immediately.

Robb smiled and lifted his daughter from the table where she had been wrecking havoc, and into his arms.

"I'm sure you can princess." even though she looked tired enough to fall over. "But you don't have to. Come in."

Her eyes fixed on Rose and then looked away as if she did not mean to be caught staring. If it were up to those that would council him, Myrcella Baratheon would never lay eyes on his daughter ever, but that was not how Robb intended for things to be. What he had seen of the princess, known of her, had helped him decide what he wanted to do with the complication that this Myrcella Baratheon was. He had made his choice this morning, when he was convinced that he had seen at least the beginning of all of her, and it was a choice that he would not regret.

"Please, sit. You have not yet met my daughter, have you?"

The princess shook her head. No she had not of course. His mother turned green whenever he suggested it. Sansa would frown as if undecided and give their mother contemplating looks and Arya had planted herself in Rose's room, sleeping there beside the little girl, a living shield.

Robb was tired of them all.

Rose on the other hand, had no such qualms. She regarded the princess with the caution of her calm nature, but with a definite curious glint to her eyes – one that admittedly was reserved for everything and everyone new. The princess gave a meagre smile and a small hello, to which his two and a half year old daughter remained unmoved.

"She is slow to accustom herself to strangers." Robb explained with an amused look. "Give her a few hours though and she'd be following you around like a pup."

The princess did not react at his words at first but for a small nod, and then she took a deep breath (as she did when she was about to do something entirely daring on her part) and then stood, walking the few steps separating them and then– to his utter amazement – took a knee at the foot of Robb's chair, bringing herself eye to eye with his daughter.

"Hello, little princess." She said then, her smile not dim anymore but full and bright, erasing the tiredness off her face and softening all the edges that it brought to light. To that, his daughter responded by grabbing a fistful of those gold hair and pulling.

Robb immediately reached out to catch that tiny fist, but he was stopped by the princess' low chuckle.

"Tommen used to do that as well." The princess said with a smile so soft it sweetened her face into affection – affection for her brother. She was still looking at Rose, letting his daughter fill the tiny hands with golden curls as her fascination for them grew. "I used to let him brush my hair and braid it in silly twists. My septa would always have such fits over it…"

And just then Rose tried to stuff a fistful of those heavy waves in her tiny mouth with a long 'aww' sound that drew an amused look from the princess. She caught Rose's little hand in her own long fingers and softly told her 'no, not in your mouth'. An advice that Robb knew Rose would blithely disregard only a few moments later as she always did.

"It seems to be the way of little brothers…" Robb heard himself say, looking at his daughter and the princess both. There was a tremble to the princess' limbs; she swallowed more often than normal. He could see the signs of nerves on her, though the look on her face told him nothing

The princess did not say much else for long moments, during which Rose slid down from Robb's lap; he watched his daughter being drawn to the multiple skirts of the princess' dress and how the princess got herself more comfortable there on the thick rug and let his daughter crawl and play with all the frills and laces and heavy velvets, Rose's game getting more and more open and loud as time passed and she accustomed herself to the princess' company. It was strange how Rose's presence, though she was still small enough not to understand what happened around her, stilled the tension between himself and the princess. His little girl acted as a conduct, as a distraction perhaps. It was hard to remember why the air was so tense with things unsaid, when Rose decided it was a good idea to crawl under the princess' skirts. The action provoked a laugh from the princess, who so far had been silent.

He did however remember why he'd wanted to see her, and he did not wish to delay any longer.

"I wanted to be the one to tell you princess before you hear it from someone else in a more unpleasant fashion: we will be moving out of Riverrun soon. You and my daughter will take the northern road through the marshes of the cragonmen, along with a good number of my men, and wait at Greywater Watch."

He knew better than to think she would not ask for more than that. Her immediate frown told him she was already dissecting his words.

"Myself and your daughter… Shall we be travelling apart from the rest of your family?" She tried to hide her suspicion, but didn't fully succeed.

"My mother and sisters have chosen not to go. I'd rather not take that chance with neither you nor my daughter however."

Her eyes flared and the unspoken words she trapped behind her thinning lips simmered. Robb knew what she was thinking in that moment. She knew what she was in this war, in this peace of theirs, but still she did not appreciate being robbed of the freedom to choose. Sansa had told him as much, but perhaps Robb really had wanted to see for himself what the princess' reaction would be.

"And what is it that I and your two year old daughter shall have to wait for in Greywater Watch?" she asked then, icily composed. It gave away her indignation immediately.

"You will have to wait out a battle, princess. The army will be marching on the last of the ironborn."

Realization dawned on her as quickly as a blink and for a moment she did not breathe.

"To take back Moat Cailin." She whispered, eyes turning inwards, before focusing on him sharply as if looking for confirmation. There were questions in her eyes, she was brimming with them.

"I have always heard it said that Moat Cailin is impossible to take from the south. That this is so true that no southern army has ever set foot past the Neck. How do you plan to take it?"

Robb's smile was sly. "Very carefully." He said simply, not answering at all.

Something flickered in her eyes. Her next observation surprised him.

"You will not grant them any surrender, will you?" the way she spoke it surprised him as well: without a single doubt, without battling a single eyelash.

Humour left his eyes. "No, I won't."

The princess took only one short moment to ponder – the space of one blink. Then she nodded and turned her attention to Rose once more, who seemed intent now the silver rings on the princess' fingers – though the Myrcella did not allow his daughter to take them in her own hands because 'oh no, you could choke on one of those.' She did not ask him why he should choose not to show the smallest mercy– and Robb knew it was not because she did not have it in her to ask him those kinds of questions. The truth was that she simply did not need to, did she? She was not bound by the same rules he had been raised with. Myrcella Baratheon had grown hearing 'The rains of Castamere' in her halls. She could understand the convenience of annihilation better perhaps, than any of his generals… and apparently had no qualms with it.

She truly was a hard soul, wasn't she?

(But Robb knew there was compassion in her. He had seen it. It might have bothered him that she could be such different things at once, but that didn't matter anymore. He'd made his choice.)

It was not the northern way, Robb knew, to grant no quarter like this, but it was not to northerners that Robb wished to make himself heard. This language was meant for the Ironborn and it was one they would understand to their core. He had let his men draw the iron islanders into one place – make Moat Cailin their stronghold on purpose. Now that the board was set and the pieces were moving however, Robb would feed is army a bellyful of crackens. They had their chance for turning back and they missed it. And if there was one thing Robb had learned from warring against Tywin Lannister and Roose Bolton, it was methodical ruthlessness. Whatever had to happen to end this war would happen and that was the end of it. The krakens that had dared claim the north for their own would die. Every last one of them.

"For when should I make myself ready, your grace?"

Robb blinked at her for a moment before catching himself. He had been so absorbed in his thoughts though, that when the princess spoke to him, it caught him unaware…

"You will be told some hours before, worry not."

The frown pulled her eyebrows together again. "How shall I be travelling?"

Was she worried about her safety, he wondered? A quick look at her scarred cheek reminded him that this was a woman who would probably not be so quick to trust her safety to others, seeing how grossly they had failed her in the past. He told himself to remember that.

"Through the safest road." Robb said plainly, and saw the flicker in her face at having been caught in her intent. "The cragonmen will guide you and Rose through the hidden paths of the marshes. None but them can survive those roads. A few thousand of my men will also go with you, so rest assured princess, you will be as safe as I can keep you."

"Indeed." She said softly, looking away. Whether her incredulity was real of his imagination Robb could not tell, but he did know an unimpressed face when he saw it.

"You don't trust me to keep you safe… and I can understand why that is. But you should trust me when I say that my daughter's safety is paramount to me and I would never take the slightest chance with her - and she will be travelling with you. Is that not enough for you?"

Her lips pursed for a moment but then she looked away from him again. She nodded, without making eye contact.

"And where will this 'some thousand men' that will be travelling with us go? Stay with us at Greywater Watch?" she enquired then, though it was obvious to her that she did not believe so.

Robb had a moment, a single one, to wonder at his wisdom of sharing such information with a person who needed so little guidance to draw herself to the right conclusion… that moment was quick to pass. His mother had been adamant about not telling her anything of his plans and having her moved with the rest of his army as he saw fit. Robb had flat out refused. He would not treat her as if she was his to move; she was, unfortunately for her, but Robb had an inkling he would never get anywhere with this princess if he made her feel so powerless. He knew that the most dangerous animal was the cornered one and Robb was not so anxious to test Myrcella Baratheon in that so needlessly.

Besides, what could possibly be the harm of showing her a little trust – of having her see that he was choosing to trust her?

"Some will. The rest will travel further up the marshes and infiltrate Moat Cailin from the north, where its defences are low. We will engage them from one side…"

"And sneak up to them from the other." She finished, certain. Robb limited himself to a small nod.

She took a moment to wonder – he watched her as she did, without realizing that he was curving forward and they were so very close; she was practically sitting at his feet and Rose had drawn herself to her lap, where the main focus of attention had become the princess' bodice and its delicate ornaments.

"I have heard it said that you always join the battles." The princess said without looking away from Rose. "Will you be fighting this time as well?"

"It would not be very fair to ask my men to fight and die if I am not willing to do it myself."

Her silence stretched a bit and, utterly out of nowhere, Robb was reminded of how anxiousness used to submerge Roslyn whenever he left for the field, how wide and pleading her eyes used to become, soft as velvet as she silently implored him not to go… and how dearly he had cherished that tenderness.

There had been a flicker in him that had expected some shade of that from this princess when she started on this particular line of discourse. It was a twinge like muscle memory provoked by the shade of an idea he might have held once, of how men and women were among themselves. It was a thought that Robb was internally laughing at even before he was done conjuring it. He should have known better than to even think it: she was not of that kind. The even tone of her question should have told him as much if nothing else had. He could not even imagine what she would sound like as she plead… or that she could ever plead for anything.

He could imagine a way or two to make her, though. To hear how the word 'please' tasted on her lips.

But that would be a different way of pleading… one he should not be thinking of in the middle of the night in a room alone with her; especially because, seeing how tense the line of her shoulders still was, his thoughts were not bound to take him anywhere but to disappointment.

"I do hope you don't intend on dying." the princess deadpanned then, her dry tone making him smile.

"No man ever does."

She shrugged. "I suppose you wouldn't. There is so much you have to live for after all."

Robb frowned. Her tone was not flat exactly – contemplative would be a better word for it and he didn't know whether to laugh or frown.

"Do try not to get killed regardless, your grace." The princess then added, and this time she did look at him, and there at the corner of her lips there was a small curve twisting them upwards in the smallest smile. In that moment she seemed not so apprehensive at all. She seemed at her ease.

Robb rolled his eyes and fell back in his seat.

"You have a twisted sense of humour, princess."

Her laughter rang with the clarity of bells; Rose squealed and clapped her tiny hands at it.

oOo

It was his mother that came to collect Rose for bed… and it was the princess who picked his daughter up and passed her to the waiting arms of Caitlyn Tully Stark. Robb did not miss his mother's sharpening stare, that twitch on the side of her jaw and her thinning lips. He decided that he did not care of it either way. He had made himself very plain earlier that day, (he had never thought he should have to give the same warning to his own mother that he had to his insubordinate soldiers) for the second time: There would be no more fucking about on any account where Myrcella Baratheon was concerned. The time to offer opinions was over.

The princess was not of the same uncaring mind though. Whatever levity Robb had managed to infuse her with, disappeared, and the moment she turned to him after his mother had left, Robb knew she would take her leave. She did not even bother to sit down again…

"Your grace…" the princess begun one they were alone, but found herself soon interrupted.

He was so tired of hearing about his grace, of all things!

"Don't you know my name, princess?"

The transparent surprise in her eyes when she tuned to him was worthy of a smile.

"I…Of course I do." she said, her tone as careful as her tiny frown. Her confusion was never pure – it always blended with suspicion.

"Then perhaps you should start thinking of using it." Robb said lightly. Her mouth slackened a bit, a flair of irritation barely concealed in her eyes. She did not like being teased, or at least not when she did not know the rules of the game, and it seemed to him that she did not. Looking at her Robb even doubted that she understood his intent.

The iron look she had only moments before received from his mother might have something to do with her sudden coldness.

"That would be inappropriate of me." she said then, as if it was obvious.

Robb smiled thinly.

"Till only this morning, I would have believed you actually cared about such a thing as propriety, but now… I don't really think you do. After all, you question my judgement freely enough."

She bristled at that. Her eyes hardened and her shoulders tensed even further. He had to wonder if she was even breathing at this point.

"I am bound to speak truthfully to him who would be my husband and my king, am I not?" her eyes pinned him. "Had you not wished for my honest opinion, you should not have asked me for it. If I have been insolent, then that is some excuse, but I do not believe I have given you case to judge me so."

Robb let the silence linger for a moment; the irony of this whole thing tinkled him lightly. She was insolent. Ever politely so, but she was insolent about everything that she did not like or judged inferior. Insolence implied judgement, disregard and a certain amount of recklessness. It implied pride. She was all of that. The only difference between her and someone else however, was that she concealed it all underneath manners so impeccable, that her impudence rarely showed for what it truly was.

But she was not insolent now: she was defensive.

Robb took a step forward, abandoning the tease and bleeding sincerity in every word.

"Princess… my lady, you mistake me: I am not making a mockery of your honesty, I promise you. I simply meant to convey that I feel we are both, at this point, beyond the formality of our titles." He did not say that it had come to a point that it grated at him to be addressed as 'your grace' by someone he was trying so hard to get close to. It was as if every time she uttered that title she forced distance between them. It had simply lost the rightness of circumstance, in Robb's opinion.

She regarded him with mistrust, at first. But then she gave in with a sigh.

"I suppose you are right. No, I know you are. I thought…" but she stopped herself and shook her head. "It doesn't matter what it thought. This… It should be easier than this, should it not?"

"I doubt it." Robb said and when he found that he had her curiosity, he added to it. "Once you start thinking anything as easy, it only means you've forgotten what it costs."

The princess smiled and gave him an absent-minded nod.

"I think you will have to start… I find it too odd." she finally said, though there was the note of a smile in her bright eyes.

Robb raise one eyebrow at her. "You find it easy to give me an order, but you won't say my name. That is odd, Myrcella."

Her name rolled off his lips easily: he had been practising saying it in his head for a while now. Her reaction though was interesting: she blinked, surprised. She knew and yet it seemed she had hardly been prepared to hear her own name through his lips. And thought they had almost rehearsed the moment, her name on his tongue, when she was standing right there, felt strange for him too.

Why though?

And why not? When it implied such immediate familiarity. One they did not have, not truly. And yet they kept guiding themselves towards it, stubbornly persisting in spite of any and all around them.

You're being a fool Robb. And it's his mother's voice he hears. And perhaps she is right, but Robb cannot do anything different. He cannot.

"Perhaps now that we have gotten over the formalities, I might ask you something that has been troubling me."

Robb nodded, even though she had not exactly asked him a question.

"Why haven't you yet spoken to me of what happened this morning with Aemon Frey? Or what you heard in this same room, from Tyene, from Oberyn." She never had had reservations about holding his gaze, even when she would rather look away. This was not one of those times. "Don't you have anything you wish to ask me? Or have you gathered enough by asking others?"

Robb did not imagine the disparaging tone to her voice then, even though she was so very careful of hiding it.

"Oberyn has explained to me the circumstances of your attempted murder, and what followed." Robb said then, and saw the surprise flicker in her eyes at his chosen words. He had in fact chosen them deliberately: it had been an tempted murder. And he was full of things he wanted to know. But not like this. "It is enough that you should be made to give me your future. Your past is your own Myrcella. I should like to know of it, but only when you wish to tell me, on your own terms."

A small smile curved her lips, understanding sinking in her eyes, softening them. She regarded him carefully.

"I have come to expect demands from strangers. It is... unbalancing for me to find such understanding. Thank you." Looking at her unflinching eyes was starting to become annoying. He did not want to blink first, but she seemed never to need to do it at all. "And what of Aemon Frey. You mean to tell me that none have come to you demanding my punishment for maiming your man?"

Robb bristled. "They have come, and they have been denied under no uncertain terms. There is no rightful cause for your punishment."

Her brow rising at him was all the reaction she gave, but it spoke to him as eloquently as if she had outright laughter her disbelief in his face.

"Spoken like a true King."

Robb frowned at her. It felt as if she was mocking him even though there was nothing but acknowledgement on her face. He kept his lips locked though.

"You do not wish to speak of this at all." She noticed then, angling her head a bit to her left like a curious animal. "Why is that?"

Robb knew precisely why. He was not about to tell her though. "Why is that you do?" he threw back at her.

She did not miss a second. "Because I saw the distaste and disapproval in you the moment I asked. I wish to know why."

Robb barely restrained himself from groaning.

"I do not want to start a debate that will only serve to make us both angry at one another." he told her frankly, a little taken aback by the careful attention she was paying him.

Her eyes narrowing let Robb know she did not agree with him even in that. "Should we speak of the weather then? Of my dress or the lovely dinner? I do not care about any of those things."

Neither do I... But likewise, he did not see a point to it other than to take a step back in all the efforts they had made to find some sort of calm together. They did not know each other well enough not too misunderstand each other.

"Why should we knowingly start an argument? We will not agree."

"Agreeing is not the point." and she spoke the words with such strength that Robb was forced to stop and consider them. "Disagreeing is. I want to speak of this because I want to know your mind and understand your reasons… and because I want you to know mine. That is as good a reason to argue as any."

Robb's eyebrows made a jump for his hairline. Well, it was a good reason, a very good reason really, when most if not all arguments did not even have a plausible one. …Yet he did not seem to know where to start, so he started by rubbing his temple, where a small tick was alerting him to an oncoming headache.

"What exactly would you want me to say, Myrcella?"

The question seemed to scratch at her. She did not like being patronized.

"I would have you tell me what you think."

What he thought… that was an interesting question. This time he did look up into her face, catching the slight tension that was already rising her. That was when he finally understood: she did not coil that way when she was afraid of even when she was angry. This was her preparing for a blow, whatever it may be. She was knowingly getting this out of him even though she probably knew that she would not like what was coming. He could not see the sense in that? Why as she trying to unbalance their frail truce?

"Do you even care what I think? Truthfully, Myrcella." Robb asked her, softening his voice. He did not want her to take it as a challenge.

Her lips thinned but she did not falter. "I do."

Robb found it hard to believe. He had detected no guilt in her, no signs of repentance. On the contrary, tonight her presence had been flaring and undeniable, a bright 'fuck off' to anyone who presumed she would bow her head and ask penance.

Fine then, Lannister. Have it your way.

She wanted him to stop treating her like a fine piece of glass did she not? Very well.

"I think what you did was reckless and impulsive, therefore ill-advised. As a punishment, it was disproportionate with the offence and more importantly, it looked as if it was vengeance and not justice." Robb spoke flatly. She was already getting his thoughts; no reason to grace her with his feelings as well.

"You never said it was wrong." Myrcella murmured after a small pause. It was no question either.

"…No I did not. Aemon Frey was in the wrong and for that he would have been punished accordingly. I had given him the benefit of the doubt only once."

Her brow rose. "Oh? So tell me, had I not done anything and simply ran with my tail between my legs, he would have been dealt with at your order?"

"He threatened your life, disrespected your position and therefore mine. It would have cost him the same as if he had insulted me."

Now her expression was more than just doubtful. Both her brows rose in a sort of wry understanding. "And what was to be his punishment in this case?"

Robb sighed. He had hoped the Frey would not be so foolish as to actually repeat the same blunder twice. "I had promised him that Greywind would unburden him of a body part of choice."

The princess regarded him carefully.

"Were you prepared to carry out your promise?"

"To the very end of it." Robb had not even needed to think on that.

Her smile was cutting. "Then I hope you realize how much trouble I spared you by acting the way I did. I'm sure a wayward princess is less of a headache, politically speaking, than the Lord of the Crossing being angry at you for personally maiming his brother in my name."

Robb stiffened and she saw the irritation on his face no doubt… because he could not have said it better himself if he'd tried.

"I was counting on Aemon not being so stupid as to go against my express command. I suppose I should not have held out such foolish hope when he has so often proved himself a complete arse." Robb admitted with a sigh as he leaned back on his seat, feeling tired.

The princess seemed to be surprised by his easy admission but at the sight of him like that she seemed to allow herself to untangle a bit. A little of the tension ran out of her.

"So, allow me to understand you correctly: you had threatened the man with amputation, and yet somehow my stabbing him a little and cutting his face was worse than that. Somehow what I did was disproportionate and vengful, instead of an earned punishment – as it would have been, had you been the one to carry it out instead of myself?"

Robb knew it would come to this.

"It was, yes."

She was not long to catching on. "Because of who I am, am I right?" Robb watched the anger she had been keeping down take life in her eyes. "Because I am a Lannister and a woman, my demanding the respect and manners I am owed, is too much to ask?"

His frown clouded his face, diving way to his displeasure.

"It is not because of whose blood you have in your veins, and even less because you're a woman." He insisted, a little harshly perhaps because in truth, those reasons were very much part of why what she'd done had been seen as so outrageous. "You had no right to punish him. I am the only one that gives legitimacy to punishments around here. My word is law, not yours. I had promised him severe treribution if he went against my command; I would be keeping my word when I punished him. Any matter you take in your own hands stands outside of the law which is why the penalty you inflicted was not yours to give!"

The implications of those words sank in. Robb had no doubt that the princess knew what he meant. He did not know however where that left her.

"I have been taking care of myself since I was eight years old, Winter King." Myrcella Baratheon told him with a deceptively calm voice. He was not fooled: her eyes were seething at him. "I started saving my own self when I was thirteen. One does not learn to stay alive by depending on the fairness of strangers. Besides, Aemon Frey did not break your law when he insulted me, nor did I act upon such a reason I taught him of better manners. This is a matter between two adult people; or rather, one adult woman and a man who should start acting like one."

"Then that means you assaulted one of my men and created disorder and they are right claiming is should punish you for it accordingly." Robb challenged.

"They are not. My actions are well within my bounds as a Princess of the Iron Throne, as your intended and future queen." And as she spoke she burned. "And make no mistake, Winter King, it was you who he chose to insult first and foremost by interfering with me. It was your command he knowingly violated, not mine." Her eyes narrowed with knowledge; she seemed to snatch the thought right out of his head. "And I think you already know that."

Her words went into his head like a spear, so close they were to the actual truth and Robb found himself looking at Myrcella Baratheon and feeling as if he had not seen her at all – again.

How many time could one person surprise you?

"Be that as it may, this does not put your actions any more in the right than they were."

She glared at him. It did not feel nice, it felt like being on the edge of a very deep place. Her stare was arresting when she was angry: it amplified her emotions, made them crushing.

"I did nothing wrong. I did nothing that was not within my rights, nor anything that would not have been expected of me if I had been a man defending his own honour. I did nothing wrong!"

Finally Robb snapped. "You were cruel! Even if we hold that you are the representative of the Iron Throne until you become my wife, that does not ebb your actions of their brutality." He did not mean to raise his voice at all, not even that little bit, but his temper got the better of him and her stubbornness was starting to grate. "The moment you chose to mark his face forever was the moment you overstepped your right and soiled that honour you were trying to avenge!"

The silence between them was charged with both their nerves and tension so tick they could have cut it open with a dagger. The very air felt heavy with it. Robb watched her as she focused all her concentration on him and the feeling he had was unnerving. Those eyes that narrowed on his face made him feel as if he were standing in front of a creature that would bite him if he so much as moved.

"Tell me, what did you do with those that betrayed you? With those that break your commands and those that dare defy you?" The princess asked, her voice so utterly calm that it immediately made him suspicions, so juxtaposed it was with the fierceness in her eyes. "How do you repay them, Winter King: A scolding? A fine? A stern warning?[4]"

"I repaired them with steel." Robb snapped, feeling the prickle of anger at her mockery.

The answer seemed to satisfy her; she repaid him with a grim look.

"You do what you must to get what you need. And so did I." she asserted, chin pointed up in sheer defiance. "Call me cruel and brutal if you will, but make no mistake, the only real difference between us is a name."

Robb gritted his teeth together. He could not believe how easily she twisted things around, how she could realign concepts he knew to be wrong in such a way that they made perfect sense. She equated circumstances that were not the same at all and made it sound natural. It was not!

Had Robb been somewhat calmer in that moment, a little more his collected self, he would have noticed something very odd about himself. He would have noticed how uncharacteristic his reaction to her was. He knew her so little, yet so easily she seemed to get under his skin: she had but to try.

Had he noticed it, he would not have liked it one bit.

To her statement though, he said nothing, though his head was filled with their differences even as Myrcella proclaimed them so alike. His thoughts must have been loud in his eyes though, for she sensed them. That twist at the corner of her lips was as unnerving as ever.

"I know what you're thinking now." She challenged.

Robb's eyebrow twitched. "Do you?" and his irony was not even subtle. "Well, there isn't much you can't do, is there."

Her narrowed eyes answered him, and Robb was reminded of the shadowcats beyond the wall and their feline predatory gaze. She liked to mock him just fine but she did not allow for her own game being turned against her , did she?

"Experience has been my mistress." The princess said tightly. "She is not known for her mercy."

Horseshit, Robb thought. She knew nothing about him; all she had was presumption. "And how much experience have you had with me, princess?"

They both knew the answer to that, but she was not thrown by the obviousness of it, to Robb's chagrin.

"Little, but enough to know you're holding back your judgement, your grace. I have tried to be my better self with you, so you might look at me and see me…" she said it as if the idea had been a ridiculous one. As if it had already failed. That smirk hid her feelings well, but the disappointment brimmed in her eyes. "I wonder though, who it is that you see now."

Even though hers did not sound like a question at all. As if she did not have to wonder and already knew. Robb was taken aback by that confession though; her so plainly stating how she had been trying to reach him. He had always felt it of curse – it had surprised him to say the least. But she had never said it so plainly before.

Who did he see?

I see both my sisters in you, he wanted to say; the same fight and spirit lived in Arya and Sansa in different ways. There were echoes of her parents in her: in her pride, in her sense of entitlement and the ease with which she filled her role as royalty… In her absolute refusal to bow her neck for anyone, not even for him – though, whether she was so uncompromising of her dignity because of her parentage, or because the desert vipers she held so close to her breast had taught her so, Robb could not know. He knew however other things, secret things; things like how she stunk of fear sometimes, and how bravely she pushed through it.

He felt the echoes of many people in her. And yet they were so distant, he could stop to think on them only once she was out of his sight. Because when she was there in front of him, in front of anyone, it was impossible to be filled with anyone's presence but hers.

He could tell her all that. He could. But he doubted she would believe a word of it.

The silence lasted so long between them that even the echoes of their arguments were swallowed by it. Both their tempers came to cool and once they did they realized that the point was moot; they had known they would not agree. Agreeing with each other was not the point, she had said so herself.

They seemed to realize this at the same time and two sets of eyes rose and met, green and sky-blue, at the same moment.

"I did not mean to make you angry." Myrcella said slowly. "Perhaps starting this when we were both so tired was not my best idea."

"Are you sorry that you did?" Robb asked, curious.

Her eyes snapped to him immediately and even before she spoke he had his answer.

"No. I don't expect us to agree on everything. That does not mean we should not speak of things with one another, does it?"

Robb could not help a smile. "No. No it does not." and then after a brief consideration, he added to it, more softly. "What do you say to a compromise?"

The small inclining of her head was her interest.

"I shall admit the right of something: that Aemon Frey got what was his due." Robb said slowly. "Your brand of lesson was perhaps different in its connotations from the one I would have given him… but it was fully deserved none the less."

Those words made her look away. It was a while before she spoke again and she did so looking to the fire and not his eyes.

"A compromise… Then is suppose I shall have to admit that while I knew he deserved it, that that had no bearing whatsoever over why I did it."

And then, once it was clear that Robb would not be the one to break the silence, she looked at him with questioning eyes.

"Are you not going to speak to me about the difference between justice and vengeance?" she asked him then.

Robb almost smiled. "And what exactly would be the point of telling you something which you already know? …I would however like to know why."

Her surprise was starting to taste sweet. She always looked so sure in her opinions, so unassailable – becoming unpredictable to her was starting to seem like a game. He would like it much better however, when she seized to be surprised.

"I do already know the difference, of course… I could never afford to think that way." She said then and her smile was gone, the look on her face was grim. "Had I only exacted justice upon those that would have seen me harmed, they would have never stopped tormenting me." When her eyes met his, they were deep and full of knowing, a sorrow that told him of countless past hurts. It was a flash, but so raw… he could never have missed it.

"There are some forms of transgressions that are too subtle for persecution: a harsh word, a cutting lie… a cruel prank. I was a child; it hurt - at first." She shrugged the words away, as if they were too distant for true feeling. "But when they realized that any hurt I felt, I could deal back a hundred fold…" the fierceness of her then was something that provoked him. It was their sudden, unexpected closeness, Robb thought. He was standing too close to her now for her honesty not to move him. "…they stopped very soon then, and I had a quieter life for it."

So many of what she tells him stands without time, without place. She speaks of cruelty, but she has Elia's friendship, Obara's devotion. Robb does not know where to place her confessions, when they happened, how? But though all her words cannot fall into orderly places and paint him a clear picture, he does not take them for lies. The idea never even crosses his mind.

"I can understand that." Robb finally admitted. "I cannot say I would do the same thing." He warned. "But I can understand why you did."

Robb watched her shrug as she smiled faintly. "It's a start, I suppose." But that smile was so frail, it went almost the same moment the words were out of her mouth and she was again looking at him with utter seriousness. With a sigh, she balanced her elbows on her knees and hid her hace in her hands, rubbing at her eyes with the heel of her palm. "I should't have done it. I'm not sorry." She added then, wanting to maek sure of it, as if Robb didn't alredy know. "But I should have."

"Why do you think that?"

The princess remained silent for a moent, her chin on her hand, staring ahead.

"They laughed at me." She said then and the depth of the dejection in her voice was such as Robb ahd never ehard from her. This more than anything seemed to upset her. "I maimed a man, disfigured him… and they laughted at my back as if I was some jape. As if I was ridiculous."

Her eyes started to shine, whether with emotion or unshed tears he could not tell. The firelight hit he rin sucha way that she was all light and shadow and nothing in between, her face a collection of sharp angles arranged into beauty.

Robb was utterly flabergastered at what he was hearing, so much so that he did not know what to say for a moment.

"Nobody laughed at you." He said then, so full of conviction tha Myrcella turned to regard him with a small frown.

"I heard them. I know what ridicule sounds like, Robb."

But Robb shook his head, and he too leaned forward, elbows on his knees and his face right on the same level with hers.

"Whom you heard was the SmallJon, Lord Umber's son. And he was not laughting at you. You made him laugh, that is true, but it was not at your expence. He laughed… same as he laughed when he likes something which surprises him, and you did. I doubt he expected to – I suppose that it amuses him, that he can find admiration for a Lannister." Robb couldn't help the smile when ht thougth back at the SmallJon's enthusiasm when he'd come to tell his king just what kind of a wild creature Robb was to take on as a wife. "Quite a few other's feel the same way."

Myrcella stared at him with her lips slightly parted, in a suprirse and bewilderment so honest that Robb could not help the chuckle, the previous irritation all but forgotten.

Myrcella straightened then, and with a huff she crossed her arms above her chest stared ahead in an expression that Robb would have called a pout, had he dared to acuse her of ever being so frivolous.

"The North breeds a strange people, Winter King." She told him, as she gave him a look that brimmed with humour. And because he ahd seen just how upset the thought of beain mocked had made her, he knew that he ahd just put a great fear to rest, with so very few words.

It made him feel rather good that they had had that discussion after all. Perhaps she had the right of it: they could become close even while they were arguing. Closer perhaps, because for once he ahd not been so careful and neither had she.

"Don't be so quick to judje Princess. They will be your people too soon."

Darkened eyes met his for a moment her face was expressionless before she nodded, looking ever so serious.

No frivoless, this princess was definitely not.

oOo

"I have a favour to ask…" she'd started, and when he inclined his head she seemed unsure, as if not knowing how to start. With a deep breath she ahd made up her mind. "I have never allowed other people to lay abuse upon me with impunity, Robb. It would have been fatal… still is, really, just in different ways now."

His name rang loudly in his own ears. It was as if she'd slapped him with the certainty in her voice. The way she used his name made the space between them resonate with the emptiness, as if it was both too small and too wide, for that name alone to fill. It sounded perfectly spoken and entirely wrong at the same time.

"So I would plead with you that you remind your honourable Lady mother as well, of something important: that I have no cause to bear her ill will but for what treatment she shows me. …But it's more important to me that you believe that."

Robb could do nothing but frown, trying to understand… until it hit him all at once: she knew.

A moment later, he called himself a fool: Of course she knew.

She probably had known the same way Sansa had known: in a moment, without needing reason or proof, only by intuition. That did not even surprise him. Robb knew from experience that you only got better at sniffing the enemy once you've been at war for too long.

"I know what your mother thinks of me; I doubt there is anyone who does not know it." The princess said as she saw realization dawn in his features. "She holds your daughter as if to shield her whenever I pass by."

Robb knew that of course. He knew it all too well, and my the soft bemusement on Myrcella's face, she knew why too.

"And I know your younger sister thinks the same, if not worse, of me. But she is young. Too young to, say, speak with a prince and give him attestable leave to speak of rape and murder to a guest and put forth an interrogation…"

Robb sighed heavily.

Finally it was out. To his surprise however, all he felt was relief.

"My mother does not hate you, Myrcella."

"No, she only hates my name." the princess rapidly corrected. Bitterly. "I have been quick to find that the difference matters little in the end."

"Are you telling me that I should now be the referee between the two of you?" the thought alone exhausted him.

Myrcella blinked, as if surprised. "Of course not. Neither myself nor Lady Caitlyn are children. We bear the consequences of our own actions, whatever they may be. At least, I do for mine." She stated, suddenly sounding weary to the bone. "I am simply saying that I shall not oblige gracefully any longer. Not to anyone… It was never done for anyone else's benefit anyway."

"It was done for mine then?" The thought would have amused him if it did not contain the hint of dishonesty. "You would have had me believe I was marrying a flower?"

It sounded like such a joke. She was too hard, too strong in her own self, too inflexible sometimes, even though she could be so adaptable in others. She was too much of her own person to ever be confused with someone else.

"Decieving you was not my intent." She said slowly, looking at her hands.

"Yes. I have known enough of you to believe that." But Robb decided not to hide the next thought that came to his head. "But you would have if you had to."

She did not flinch, on the contrary. She looked up and held his gaze, in silence. Admissions like these did not have to be made out loud. Looking at her though, leaning as she was on one armrest facing him, her knees pulled up against her chest and arms circkling them… he could not find it in himself to resent her for trying to protect herself.

"Do you think you could have? Played on deception for all the years of our life together?" And he could ask that question freely because now he was sure he knew the answer… and because everything about her in those moments hinted at her ease with him and his presence and Robb felt the same.

"I doubt it. I am too self-centred, it seems, to be anyone but myself." She deadpanned, resigned almost. Robb found himself chuckling at such a plain admission.

"Honestly though… I don't know." And her eyes were so open as she looked at him, her smile a little trembling on her lips for a moment. She seemed so vulnerable as she swallowed down her nerves and spoke again. "I have known myself to be made of so many different things… I feel sometimes that I don't know myself."

The admission seemed to fall form her lips like a secret.

He looked at her from head to toe. Her feet which she had so nonchalaantly brought up on the sofa, were an inch away from his thigh and the silks and velvets of her skirts spilledacorss his leg ever so carelesly. They had moved closer somehow and Robb was only now realizing it.

The words were out of his mouth before he have himself the chance to regret them.

"Could you imagine yourself as a friend?"

He had spoken to her ever so softly, and yet she looked up sharply at his words, wide eyed and startled out of her contemplation. The smile that started on one corner son grew full and she looked away then, down to her knees. Robb knew that he was seeing her shy for the first time when a delighted blush tinted her pale cheeks, giving her back the warmth of her usual colouring.

"I could think of nothing better, really… or anything I might want more." Myrcella admitted, giving him the first smile he had seen on her face that day

Well, does so little really make the difference for you, princess? Was so little, enough to make her so happy?

But Robb knew it was not anything small at all. And that she should know enough of life and the world to prize friendship between them the most, then she was wise beyond her years indeed. They could be good friends, Robb knew, if the world let them have a chance. And in perhaps another short month, the world would have no place between them at all, because she would be his and he would be hers, as far as gods and men were concerned. He was starting to believe that it indeed would be so, and the world would take second place to whatever they managed to created between them.

And it startled him, how much he wanted it. How much he craved for it to be real.

But if a moment ago, friendship seemed like the brightest idea he'd ever had, not it also seemed like the most dim-witted as well. Robb felt it was so, as he let his eyes take in the shape of her face, her so proud beauty that could make her look both austere and playful; the gold of her hair and roundness of her shoulders, the swell of her breast and dip of her waist. Friendship… the truth was he knew nothing of friendship with a woman such as her. And he most certainly had never hand any friends whose bow of their upper lip would seem so inviting.

Friendship indeed!

He wanted her. Probably had wanted her from the very first moment he saw her (… probably even resented her a little for that, but no longer). Friendship seemed so misplaced when he allowed himself to dwell on what kind of reaction he could have to her if he but allowed himself a moment of freedom to.

But she shone so brightly at the mere mention of it.

Robb had a lashing urge to kiss her then. Just lean down a bit and it would be there: the kiss was already waiting at the corner of her smiling mouth. The suddenness of it surprised him, but not the impulse. That he had been having for a while…

Stillness came between them then, and Robb had a notion that she sensed his desire in his immobility, in his eyes and how they were burning on her skin; how they thoughtlessly fixed on her lips, pale as they were now, though not less inviting. He knew and she did as well - there was perfect clarity between them in that moment, and Myrcella chose not to break it. But her smile faded and she was holding her breath inside her chest, not even daring to release it, which Robb noticed and it told him something… He searched her eyes and they were wide upon him. He did not know how to read her, but the thought of seeing dread on her face, her face, she who had not dreaded anything today…

The desire was snuffed out of him and suddenly as it had come.

He wanted her kiss. A bit deliriously perhaps, caught in a timeless moment in the dark, but he wanted it. And she did not…

Robb gave her a smile instead, softly, the same warm smile that he gave the sisters whom he loved and his mother… He tried to think of her as he thought of them, and to show her the same tenderness, thought she was neither. Instead of her lips, he took her hand and kissed the smooth skin just below her knuckles, feeling the rough texture of her palm, which was so different from that soft patch he had pressed his lips against.

He had not mean to frighten her - he had foolishly thought her beyond being frightened.

Perhaps he had been wrong. She was after all, so very young.

"We will be good friends, Myrcella, because we want to be. I think that is the very best way a friendship can start."

She had smiled back to him ever so brightly… and not taken back her hand.

oOo

When he went to sleep that night, that same dream that has haunted him for years, came to him again. But it was different this time. Robb couldn't tell what it was that made such a difference, but he could feel it.

The walls of grey stone were the same, and the darkness felt as stifling as always. It could have been anywhere, but he knew this was Winterfell. He was afraid, there was something about the darkness that made him uneasy, but more than the dark, what he thought he saw in front of him frightened him. She was the same as she'd always been ever since he started dreaming of her: pale as the moon and sitting on snow, clothed in mist that seemed to swirl about her. Even her hair seemed to be of smoke and he could never tell whether she was real or he was dreaming of a ghost. He'd thought for a long time that she was Roslyn come to haunt him, but he had been dreaming about this apparition before he ever set eyes on his lovely wife.

He looked at her from a distance; all about them there was an impenetrable darkness that made Robb's bones shiver; where she sat was the only light he could see. And yet instead of being inviting, that petrified him. And though he knew that he should go to her, Robb did not want to. He wanted to turn and leave, find a way out of the maze he had tangled himself in, scream for someone, anyone. There was something utterly unbearable about the sight of that ghost, something that ripped at him… But instinctively Robb knew that there was nobody who could help. There was no one there but her. He didn't even know who she was or where she'd come from, but he knew this: they were alone.

So he stepped forward, as he always did, and went to her, sat by her. Every time he did, the closer he came, the clearer he could see the stars gleaming in her hair; little pinpricks of light. She was shockingly pale, achingly white against the darkness that smothered everything else. But Robb could see nothing but sorrow in her and nothing but grief did the sight of her bring him, though he was never able to even see her face clearly.

…never, until this night.

He saw the Myrcella Baratheon's face when his ghostly apparition turned her head. She looked nothing like Myrcella, but Robb knew, the way one oft does in dreams, without sense, only through feeling. It was the princess staring back at him… and yet not. There was no gold in her hair, no sun on her skin. Even the green of her summer eyes was gone, leaving something pale in its wake. Pale grey and alight with great sorrow that shrunk his heart to see it and frightened him deeply, though he knew not why.

Her colors had bled out. White… all about her was ashen and so was she. Pale as snow, thin as mist.

Death…Every time he felt it, even though only this time he had seen who brought it to him.

Death was all that filled Robb's heart as he looked at her and when he reached a hand towards her, Myrcella filtered through his fingers like smoke. She was there, and yet she was not. And now that he could finally see her face, he called her by name, though it hardly even sounded like her name. But she heard it, and when she did, tears fell down her cheeks and froze there, shining little chirps of ice on her bloodless cheek.

'I am alone Robb. Alone and lost.'

The sound she'd made was hollow and it echoed around him so strongly that it seemed it was the darkness that spoke it and the walls that whispered her words back to him… and perhaps it was so since she had not opened her lips at all.

But the sound of her voice, that desolation in it echoed in him too, and it made him ache, it made him want to scream. That phantom pain that he always felt and always dreaded came to him, and it ached so acutely that Robb was sure his chest must have torn open… but there was no wound on him. But the pain felt so real; it hardly left him any quarter…

And it was then that reached her hands to him, unwinding them from her lap - and it was then that he saw the blood. It always happened in the same way… and never once failed to frighten him asif for the same time. Against the whiteness of her, the blood was a violent scream. More tears fell and froze and her pale hands coated in thick red reached for him, whether for help of for murder he did not know. He only knew that the whiteness of her was drowning in red.

My blood... Robb knew it with shocking certainly. My blood.

Her hand would touch his face and he would feel the warm and sticky red coat his cheek. Red fingers strangling the mist, blooming in her lap, on her breast.

He wanted to get away from her, but could not.

Trapped, trapped and his blood soaked the snow crimson. Beasts roared in the darkness and the cold and the white was gone, drowned by flames and screams…

Robb woke shaking and coated in sweat, a shout trapped in his throat. He took breath after deep breath, trying to swallow it down. His heart was beating a mile a minute, and the echo of a threat in his heart, dangling above him like a sword held by a thin thread.

Once the first wave of panic this dream caused him passed, he wanted to scream again, but this time out of frustration.

What did it mean?

Robb was no stranger to strange dreams. He had had wolf dreams, as he'd called them once, dreams about the future and about riddles. But this one, a dream of darkness and snow, ghosts and blood… it had been tormenting him for years and never had he found anything to explain it. He had feared for every woman in his life: his mother, his sisters, Roslyn who he had inevitably lost. Robb had knowing without knowing that it was not Roslyn walking his nightmares. Just as he knew now without knowing that every night from now on, he would seen that ghost with Myrcella Baratheon's face because it was her… it had always been her…

The irony was not lost on him: he had been dreaming about the Iron Throne princess since before she was a conscious thought in his mind.

It didn't help him make sense of it though. what did it mean? Was Myrcella going to try to kill him? Or was she going to die? In his dream, she felt more like a ghost than a person. There was a palpable scent of death about her that always chilled his blood.

Robb rubbed his face and when that didn't do the trick, he went to his basin and splashed himself with the cold water. Dawn's pale fingers were already lighting the sky - it would be useless to even try to fall asleep again, he knew. He would be sleeping anymore this night, even if it hadn't been too late for it anyway. He could never sleep after he dreamt this particular dream. Every time he tried to close his eyes, he'd be back into that room, with red-drowned fingers reaching for him and his blood blooming scarlet stains in the snow… and no closer to understanding what it meant than he had been the day this nightmare first came to him.

oOo

---

[1] Anais Nin quote

[2] quoted from Sansa: A stupid girl with stupid dreams who never learns. I just didn't want to use the exact same words.

[3]A sorrow so deep it was hidden from tears – that is a quote from some write which is not me, but the name of whom I cannot remember right now.

[4] From Danaerys, when she talks with Jorah about the slavers.