Chapter Twelve: Little Doe
A/N: Hey guys! Seen the first episode of Season 3? I'm so excited! Anyway, here's a new chapter, and there's a bit of Robb/Mella for you all ;)
There was no going back. Mella knew that now. Although Jaime was right about her having to choose a side, she had admittedly grown more self-confident about the matter. She was, after all, the rightful heir to the throne. Why could she not have her own side? Was it simply because she was female? She knew her place, but the notion of being dismissed for her gender made her skin prickle with irritation. Was that why Robb could not accept her, and proclaimed himself King in the North?
Robb Stark was clearly determined to gain more allies. Theon Greyjoy had just that morning been dispatched to the Iron Islands to convince his father Balon to support Robb. Catelyn had been evidently disapproving – Balon was not a man to be trusted. Mella already knew this due to the rebellion he had attempted against her father. Yet she contented herself to her silence. Robb would find out for himself soon enough that Balon was too proud a man to accept such an alliance.
She was somewhat astonished to be called to Robb's tent for a meeting. Of course, Mella still did speak to Robb and Catelyn, but her relationship with the Starks was quite precarious due to the fact that her brother had ordered Ned's execution. Catelyn was beginning to see that Mella, like her father, was a true friend to them – but Robb, who had cared about her so much when they had been in Winterfell, seemed as though he needed more convincing.
"Lord Stark." Mella made a point of calling him that every time she encountered him. The others would call him 'your grace', but she would coolly refer to him by his proper title. He was a Lord of Winterfell, she would give him that, but she was perhaps too proud to refer to him as a King even for the sake of maintaining some kindness between them. Robb had made things very clear when he had chosen to get himself betrothed to a daughter of Walder Frey.
"Lady Baratheon," Robb responded in turn. Mella saw that Catelyn was already present, and she wondered why exactly they had summoned her. Drawing herself up to full height, she wrapped her cloak tight around her, surmising that winter truly was coming. "My mother is travelling south to form an alliance with your uncle, Renly. We were both thinking it might be prudent for you to accompany her."
Mella understood exactly what her accompanying Catelyn implied, and she found herself rather insulted. Robb wanted to imply that the true heir to the throne championed his cause, which was not the case at all. She also did not want her uncle to think that she in any way supported his own claim to the throne. Perhaps before, Mella would have allowed herself to be downtrodden by older, stronger, male candidates...but not now. She was the one true child of Robert Baratheon, and she wanted the world to know it.
"I'm sorry, but I will have to refuse that offer." Mella watched as Robb's eyes narrowed. "You see, I am the Queen of Westeros by right of blood, and I refuse to appear as though I am serving false monarchs such as you, or even my uncle. This is a mission that you must undertake alone, Lady Stark."
"I understand," Catelyn said, inclining her head formally. She seemed to hold no quarrel with Mella, but when the Princess looked to Robb, she could see that he was not at all impressed by her decision. Did he want her to leave camp? The thought made her stomach churn, but there was a possibility there. Maybe it was hard for him too, being so close to her yet unable to act on his feelings because of his betrothal...but did he even have feelings anymore?
"Do you and Robb hate each other now?" Arya sat down nibbling at an apple. With her hair cut so short and her ragged clothing, she still looked more like a little boy than a young noblewoman. She glanced across at Mella, who sitting on a rock at the edge of the camp and contemplating. It wasn't usual for her to go off in a huff, but things had changed. Westeros was on the very brink of war.
"I don't hate Robb," Mella replied softly, brushing her hair out of her eyes, "I could never hate Robb. But I think he hates me now."
"Don't be stupid," Arya chastised, tossing her apple core and watching it roll down the hill. She crossed her legs. "He's just different now. It doesn't mean he doesn't care because he's fighting a war."
"But I'm the rightful heir," Mella sighed heavily. "Robert's only daughter. Surely he sees that? Doesn't he understand that I was born for this?"
"Rightful heir?" Arya threw Mella a sharp glance. "No, you aren't. It's the right of the Targaryens, and they're all gone, because your father and the rest of them killed them. You have to fight for your right; you don't just get it handed to you."
Mella was a little taken aback by the Stark girl's belligerent wisdom. Arya spoke the truth – her father himself had been a usurper, much as she didn't like to think of it that way. Aerys Targaryen was mad...but wasn't Joffrey himself a cruel boy, who would grow into an even more sadistic man? Mella finally found herself understanding that these men contending for the throne weren't attempting to take away her birthright at all, but were securing their chance to govern Westeros in ways that they saw as better than Joffrey's.
"You're so clever," she told Arya. In truth she had grown fond of the younger girl. Mella had found company with Sansa, only three years her junior, but she also envied Arya's ability to fearlessly speak her mind. Sometimes, Mella thought she should do that more, instead of holding her peace.
"Maybe," Arya seemed a little uncertain. "But I think you should talk to Robb. He does like you. He just isn't sure, now that Father's dead."
Mella wondered what the world was coming to, when she was taking advice about her relationship with Robb from an eleven-year-old girl.
"What was that, Mella?" Robb confronted her after Catelyn's departure, striding into her tent without announcing himself. Fortunately, she was dressed and proper, but she fumed at the possibility that he could have entered at an inconvenient time. This was not the Robb she had left behind in Winterfell, as she was beginning to realise more and more often. "Why can't you accept what I'm doing? Are you so stubborn that you would continue to defy me even though you know my family is in the right and yours in the wrong?"
Mella pushed herself to her feet, blue eyes glittering with anger. Robb had gone too far this time. He really expected her to forget who she was, what she was, simply because he was on a mission for justice? She clenched her hands into fists, remembering how she had struck Jaime, and trying to contain her urge to do the same to this boy that she once had loved...well, regrettably, she still did.
"You presume too much, Robb Stark," she accused, glowering heatedly. "I am neither with nor against you. I came here because I could no longer trust my family, and thought I could trust you. It didn't mean that I had chosen your side. You know as well as I do that I will fight for my throne."
"I know you will." Robb's tone softened somewhat, and he took a hesitant step forward. "I only wish I could be fighting for you. But it's too late now."
Fighting for her? Mella was slightly surprised at that. Yet she could see that Arya spoke the truth – Robb did still care about her. The reason he didn't want to show it was because of the enmity with her family, and his recent betrothal to a Frey girl. If Mella became Queen, could she revoke the betrothal? It seemed selfish in a way. No monarch should use their powers simply for their own advantage or happiness.
"Do you really want to become King of Westeros?" Mella inquired, although she thought she already knew the answer.
Robb shook his head fervently. "I didn't want any of this. I just wanted to avenge my father, and this is what I got."
They were so close now, close enough that Mella could feel Robb's warm breath in her cheek. It was a moment of peace between them and she was happy that the icy King in the North had melted somewhat. She found herself staring into those blue eyes of his – and then somehow, his lips were pressed against hers, his arms sliding around her waist to press her tight against him.
Mella didn't even allow herself to think of the what-ifs. She put her arms around Robb's neck and responded enthusiastically. His lips trailed down her jaw, peppered kisses down her neck. She gasped at the pleasant sensations his attentions gave her, her hands tightening in his dark curls. For the moment, all she could think about was Robb. He backed her into the dresser so she was pressed between him and the heavy wood, his lips still working at her neck.
She didn't know what to do with her hands. It was laughably stupid, but she had no clue what she was doing. Perhaps it came instinctively to some people, but she found herself feeling a bit awkward about it. Mella's hands came to rest on his shoulders, sliding down his arms before running over his chest. She could feel his muscles even through the fabric of his clothes. Robb's lips reached Mella's collarbone and his hands slid down to her hips.
It was an odd feeling, as though she was somehow on fire. She was burning with heat, and it was all because of Robb – but it was a good heat. One of his hands ran up her back, sending pleasant little shivers up her spine.
Then it seemed that the spell was broken when she remembered that he wasn't hers to kiss. He was betrothed to a Frey girl now. Mella's hands pushed at Robb's chest and he took a step backwards. She moved away from the dresser, trying to pretend that she hadn't just enjoyed that immensely. Robb gazed questioningly at her, but Mella averted her eyes, slightly embarrassed.
"We should not have done that," she whispered.
"Why not?" Robb asked, and there was almost a sense of daring in his voice. "We were just kissing. It was not as though I intended to break my vows to whichever of Lord Frey's daughters I am to marry..."
Her head snapped up sharply. "So you're saying that you don't desire me that much?"
"That's not what I meant!" Robb exclaimed, raking a hand through his dark curly hair. A flush coloured his cheeks, and Mella couldn't help but find it endearing. "I do want to. That's the entire problem. I want to marry you and bed you and have many children...but I can't. We can't."
Mella couldn't help but wonder...what now? She couldn't linger hopelessly at Robb's camp, waiting for a chance with him that she would now never receive. She needed to take action of her own. Perhaps it would be wise to go south, try and pull together an army – but no. What army follow the commands of a girl of sixteen? They would want a powerful leader, a man. She had to prove her worth, and she felt that her only choice was staying in the north, until she proved that she truly was Robert Baratheon's sole heir.
"That little bitch," Joffrey seethed. Although he was King now, it would seem all he was ever hearing about nowadays was Mella. She had vanished from the capital and ended up in the north. There was dispute over whether she had gone willingly or not, but Joffrey was angry, and somewhat jealous, that there was so much attention being paid to his older sister. Some even claimed that if the rumours of Joffrey's parentage were true, she had a better claim to the throne than him.
"It isn't Mella's fault, my sweet," Cersei insisted with a false smile. "You know those Starks are treasonous. I would be willing to bet one of Ned Stark's men survived the slaughter and spirited her north."
"That's not what I'm concerned about," Joffrey snapped, glaring at his mother. Now that he was King, she was also one of his subjects, and she would do well to remember it. "I don't care where Mella is. I've heard rumours, Mother. They say she might wed Robb Stark and try to cement her claim to the throne. I'm the true King. Me. Anyone who says otherwise is a liar."
"Of course they are," Cersei attempted to soothe Joffrey, but that was growing harder of late. She worried too, although her concerns were far less selfish than Joffrey's. She wanted Mella back, and Jaime too. Mella was Robert Baratheon's one true child, but no one else could know of that.
"A thousand golden dragons," Joffrey stated, before nodding in satisfaction. It seemed to Cersei a very steep price indeed. "A thousand to whoever brings my lovely older sister back to King's Landing. I don't care if she comes willingly or kicking and screaming, so long as she's here and not out involved in whatever rebellions Uncle Renly and Uncle Stannis are stirring up."
Cersei was beginning to wonder what the truth was. Had Mella fled the capital? She had shown no sign of discontent. Cersei worried about her, how the Starks might be treating her. Sweetling, please come home.