Chapter Eleven: Broken Promise
A/N: Only a few short days until Season 3! I bet everyone else is just as excited as me. Anyway, please do review, follow or add to favourites! I really appreciate the support I've been getting from you guys so far, you're all awesome!
"Move! Out of the way, boy!"
Arya was tempted to yell that she was a girl, not a boy, but then remembered she was meant to be in hiding and didn't want to draw attention to herself. It would seem that being constantly mistaken for a scruffy little street urchin had finally done her some good. She was like a ghost around King's Landing at night, hunting around for scraps or money or anything that might have been left around, forgotten about. Sometimes, Arya wondered whether the Lannisters, and even her family, had forgotten about her.
"That's no boy." It was a voice that was strangely familiar, but the words caused Arya to tense up, placing a hand on Needle's hilt. She would fight if necessary. Yet when she looked up to the girl on the horse, she recognised the dark hair and grey-blue eyes of Mella Baratheon, hidden beneath the hood of a cloak. Arya stifled a gasp. "This is Arya Stark of Winterfell."
"Then we should return her to your mother," the man who had yelled at Arya suggested. She almost drew Needle, but Mella spun in her saddle and glared at the man.
"No. Arya will venture north, with us. If we provide the Starks with their youngest daughter, they may see fit to trust me after all."
Arya wasn't quite sure what to think. Whose side was Mella on? She didn't want to bring Arya to the Queen, yet wasn't she Cersei's daughter? She frowned, before noticing that Mella was bestowing a smile upon her and reaching out a hand. Arya examined her warily, making no move to take the Princess's proffered hand.
"I can take you home, Arya. Back to your mother and brother. I promise, I can."
"You're leaving King's Landing?" Arya hadn't quite learned the art of suppressing her astonishment. "Why? You live here."
Mella's smile was somewhat sad. "Things change. Not anymore. I'm a ward to your family, remember? I think, for now at least, the north is where I belong."
"What happened to Father and Sansa?" Arya persisted. She knew that their entire household had been either captured or killed, including Septa Mordane. Arya hadn't exactly liked the Septa, but seeing her head on a spike had caused a queasy feeling to rise in her stomach, and she'd quickly hurried away, promising herself she wouldn't come back to see whose heads decorated those spikes.
Mella sighed, her horse shifting its hooves beneath her. "It's a long story, Arya. For now, we have to get out of here before it's too late. It's completely your choice. You can come with me, or you can stay here."
Arya knew what her choice was even as her hand reached out to Mella. The Princess pulled her up onto the horse with surprising strength, and Arya scrambled onto the saddle behind her, putting her arms tight around the older girl's waist. The Princess jerked the reins and once again, her party fell into motion. Dawn would come soon, and Mella knew that once it did, her family would not rest until she was found.
Finding a camp of 20,000 men was by no means too difficult a task. Mella found that the problem was upon her arrival, she would immediately be judged for being Cersei's daughter – and by that, half a Lannister. However, she intended to prove to Robb that she was a true Baratheon, by blood as well as by name. It was a good thing she'd brought Arya with her, because otherwise Mella had her doubts about whether she'd be admitted to the camp at all.
"Princess Mella?" the sentry on duty sounded surprised to see her. "Who's that little boy on the horse with you?"
"I'm not a boy," Arya snapped, peering around from behind the Princess's back. "I'm Arya Stark and I'm here to see the rest of my family."
The sentry paled considerably, and Mella couldn't say that she blamed him. Not only was he confronted with Robert Baratheon's sole true heir, but also the daughter of his imprisoned lord, Ned Stark. He nodded a fierce affirmation and glanced back towards the camp.
"Well then. Follow me, I'll take you to his Grace."
His Grace? Mella stiffened slightly as she and her company followed the sentry. Robb was not a King...was he? What had happened in the frigid north during her relatively brief absence? She felt Arya press a hand against her arm, and realised with humiliation that even the young girl could tell she was apprehensive.
"It's alright. You'll be safe with me."
It sounded odd, coming from an eleven-year-old, yet Mella knew that Arya was right. She was an enemy here, but no harm would come to her if Arya insisted otherwise. They reached the main tent, and Mella dismounted her horse and helped Arya down as the sentry hurried into the tent, followed by several other men. No doubt her presence in the north had caused quite a stir, and if she was allowed to stay there would be much controversy.
Mella could only pray to the Seven that Robb was the same boy he had been when she departed Winterfell, that he still trusted her. Yet the Robb Stark that exited that tent was a boy no longer, but a man with cold, hard blue eyes that swept over Mella and her entourage. His men all kneeled, but Mella and her company remained standing. Robb's eyes narrowed slightly and Mella lifted her chin, sensing that a sudden tension seemed to have developed between them.
"It would seem you've not been told."Robb's tone was cool but polite, as if he was speaking to a stranger. It stung Mella like the time she'd stepped too close to a wasp nest. "I am King in the North now. This is my territory."
"I was informed," Mella replied in a similarly clipped voice. "But I see no reason why you would be King. I know you are at war with my family currently, but even so, your father would be the King in the North if anyone..."
"My father?" Robb repeated, tensing considerably. The men's eyes widened and they muttered amongst themselves, and by the sudden rage in Robb's eyes, Mella realised she had said something wrong. Something had happened to Ned in her absence, and she had the horrible suspicion that she knew exactly what. "My father is dead, Mella. Your brother had his head chopped off and put on a spike. Are you saying you didn't know that?"
The hard accusation in his tone made Mella's temper flare. She was not a naturally fiery person, however there was only so much a person could take. Her family had been lying to her for nearly seventeen years. Now it would seem that Robb thought she was the liar, when in truth she had only wanted to discern the truth. She had rode north to offer him her support, to stand against her family at his side, perhaps at the expense of disinheritance...and here he stood, as though she should be punished for the sins of her brother and mother.
"Of course I didn't," Mella retorted, planting her hands on her hips. "I rode from King's Landing to come here. I brought your sister with me. By the time I left, your father was still a prisoner in the dungeons."
"Don't act as though you've done me a favour," Robb said curtly, his blue eyes blazing. He clenched his jaw and looked her straight in the eye. "I'm betrothed. I agreed to marry one of Lord Frey's daughters in exchange for his men and his permission to cross The Twins."
It felt as though Robb had taken his sword and plunged it straight through her. Mella faltered, her stance not quite as proud, her hands falling from her hips to clench by her sides. There had been no official betrothal between the two – yet Mella had always hoped, she'd dreamed that when she returned to Robb, he would perhaps ask her to marry him. Now it seemed she had been wrong to depart at all.
Mella couldn't show how much Robb's choice hurt, not in public. She was a Princess of Westeros and her father's daughter. Robb had made his decision, and she was yet to make hers. I could have made you a King, she wanted to snap at him, If you'd married me, you could have become King of all of Westeros rather than this frigid north you call home. Instead, Mella just nodded, a sharp inclination of her head.
"May I stay then, Lord Stark?" They were back to formalities, but she refused to call him a King. He was simply a rebel. Now she wasn't certain whose side she was on – should she choose the family that had lied to her, or the boy who had betrayed her?
"You may," Robb replied, "For now."
Mella's eyes were red and puffy with tears she vehemently denied crying. She sat on her bed in the tent Robb had given her, but all of his cold courtesies were lost on her. She had finally thought herself special to someone, to him...and then he'd gone and given himself away to a Frey girl. For the first time, she understood why her father drank so much, for she would have wished to drown her sorrows in beverage if she'd been permitted at that moment. Instead she could only sit in numb silence and wonder what would become of her...of them. Was there even a 'them' anymore?
Robb entered the tent a little after nightfall. Mella immediately pushed herself to her feet, determined to assert her position. She was no girl to be intimidated. She was a Princess of Westeros, as she constantly kept telling herself, and the rightful heir to throne upon which her brother – no, half-brother – sat. Robb's expression was different now that they were alone – his gaze softer, his lips not pressed into a displeased, thin line. It made Mella melt, but only a little, because she couldn't allow herself to be in love with him.
"Congratulations on your engagement," Mella said rather icily, causing Robb to sigh heavily and rake a hand through his dark curls.
"Do you think this is what I wanted, Mella?" he demanded, gesturing around them wildly. "To be betrothed to some girl that I don't know, or love? I did it because it's my duty. Sometimes we have to do things we don't necessarily want to, because they're right. I'd choose you a thousand times over, I thought you knew that."
Mella turned her back on him to gaze at the fire. "I'm not sure what I know anymore."
"Anyway." Robb's tone became more formal, and she knew that he wasn't Robb Stark now, but the King in the North once again. "I came to speak to you for reasons other than that. I received a letter from your uncle Stannis this evening."
Mella spun around to face him then. Stannis contacting anyone was rare. Generally he preferred to keep to himself on the little island of Dragonstone. She had met her uncle a few times in her life, but she hadn't really found him to be the sort who doted on nieces or nephews. He had especially come to have a dislike for Joffrey, but then again, most people did.
"What? Stannis? What did he say?"
Robb unfurled the letter, straightening it out and handing it to Mella. She inspected it – and what she saw there, written in black ink, was the evidence of Ned Stark's claims. Stannis said that the King's children had all been illegitimate, products of incest between Jaime and Cersei Lannister – with the exception of Mella. She bit her lip, feeling her palms becoming clammy. She handed the letter back to Robb and he raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"Did you know of this?"
"Not when I came to Winterfell," Mella said honestly, pushing a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "But before I left King's Landing with Arya, your father wanted to speak to me. He told me that I was Robert's only true heir. I wasn't sure what to make of it at the time."
I am not a pawn in this game of thrones, but one of the most major players on the board. The thought scared Mella somewhat. It should be her sitting on that throne, not Joffrey. Why would Cersei not admit the truth? Perhaps she wanted Joffrey there because he was more like her, because she could control him and hold power to some extent. Robb rolled up the letter, inspecting her critically.
"But you didn't think to tell me?"
"I didn't think it was important," Mella murmured, feeling her cheeks flush red. She'd been foolish. What good would hiding the truth do? Stannis seemed to want to tell everyone in the seven kingdoms. She should accept her birthright. She should be fighting for it, as Robb fought for vengeance.
"Stannis has also declared war on the Lannisters," Robb informed her, causing her head to snap up. He killed any hopes she might have of her uncle's loyalty with his next words. "He says the throne is rightfully his, because you are a girl. Because if you marry and bear your husband children, a house other than that of House Baratheon will take control. Stannis doesn't want that. He believes the throne should pass to a male, and he is the closest male heir."
Mella recalled her twin brother, a rare occurrence considering he had died when they were babies. What if he had lived? There would be none of this now, for he was a true male heir, a stag, and he could have ascended the throne. Mella didn't particularly want the throne, but she saw the opportunity to do good with the power she'd be presented with, to right so many wrongs in the kingdoms.
"I am the true heir. Not Stannis."
"I know that," Robb said, a distasteful note entering his voice, "But it appears that legitimacy and honour appeal to very few in these times."
Word of Jaime's imprisonment made Mella curious, and in turn that curiosity led her to trail down to the cage where he was imprisoned. The soldiers stood guard right outside the door, as though Jaime might possibly attack her. Would they care if he did, if he killed her? In truth she was another opponent to Robb, albeit an unlikely one. While she still lived, Robb could not gain the Iron throne...unless he married her, and he wouldn't, for he was betrothed to a Frey.
"Niece," Jaime's tone was one of dry amusement, and when he looked up at her she could see that he'd grown a beard, and was filthy besides. She clenched her hands into fists. This man was one of the liars, the ones who'd made her feel that she was an outcast, when in reality all of her siblings were bastards. "I see that they captured you also."
Mella opened her mouth to say something – she wasn't quite sure what. Then her mouth snapped shut and she backhanded her uncle across the face. The blow wasn't hard enough to truly hurt him, but Jaime winced, likely because he hadn't expected such violence from her. It surprised Mella herself, and she stepped back, shocked at what she'd done. Who was she becoming?
"No. I am here of my own free will, uncle. Although, I suppose, I'm the only one of my dear siblings who can truly call you that, isn't that right? The others should be calling you Father."
"Oh dear," Jaime sighed heavily, "I see you heard about that."
"Heard about it?!" Mella repeated, her anger growing to sweltering fury, "Everyone in all of the seven kingdoms has likely heard about it by now! Yet you and my mother thought you could keep it a secret. You'd rather that little beast Joffrey ruling the kingdom with no clue what he's doing than have Robert Baratheon's true daughter on the throne, isn't that so? Lannisters want lions in power, not stags."
She expected some sarcastic retort from Jaime. Instead he looked at her through his curtain of too-long hair, inspecting her critically. She was truly a Baratheon, a stag. Now, it would seem that hers was the fury.
"Whose side are you on then, Mella?" he asked of her, tilting his head to the side. "Do you fight for the Starks, or the Lannisters? We're your family."
"I'm on no one's side," Mella hissed through clenched teeth, although she knew as well as Jaime did that eventually, she would have to choose. "I fight for the right to my inheritance as a true Baratheon."