Chapter Fifteen: You'll Never Know What Hit You

A/N: Ugh, this chapter was definitely a challenge to write! I really hope that I got Stannis and Melisandre in character - they were my main concerns.

Next chapter is where big things are really going to start happening, including the appearance of some Martells, and a certain Targaryen...please review! You guys are so very amazing, and I love hearing from all of you!

Also, if any of you are Jaime fans, I've started a Jaime/OC called From The Ashes. I'd love it if you checked it out!

"You did what?" Robb was on the verge of exploding, his hands clenched into tight fists of rage. His own mother had betrayed him. Not only had she seen fit to free Jaime Lannister from his prison, but she hadn't informed him of Mella's departure. Robb knew it was because he would have tried to stop the Baratheon girl, but nonetheless, it was not his mother's place to suppress such information. He swallowed hard, eyes narrowing as he inspected his mother. "You are a traitor. You freed the Kingslayer."

"I did what I had to for our family! For your sister!" Catelyn exclaimed, pacing the tent in which she had become her own son's prisoner. Robb was a man now, and he understood the costs and repercussions of war – but he didn't seem to see any other solution. If Mella and Jaime could help them, perhaps they wouldn't have to lose all these men for nothing. The fight had broken out because the Lannisters had killed Ned, but perhaps Robb seemed to have forgotten what they were fighting for.

"You sent Mella along with him!" Robb exploded, raking his hands through his dark hair. Why did it affect him so much? He knew the answer, much as he tried to dissuade himself from thinking it was the truth.

"She agreed to it of her own will," Catelyn said quietly, watching her son with sympathy in her blue eyes. "I know you care for Mella, but surely you can respect her decisions. This is no place for her, Robb. She wants to return to her family."

"Don't say that," Robb snarled, turning on Catelyn with his eyes cold as winter. He didn't want to believe that Mella had left him, forsaken them…but there was no 'them', not when he was betrothed to another. Mella had the sense to see that, even if Robb refused to. "Her family betrayed her, lied to her. Why would she want to go back to them?"

"Cersei is still her mother," Catelyn reminded Robb. No matter the situation, mothers had a bond with their children that others could not understand. Catelyn knew that Cersei was a manipulative and often cruel woman, but Mella was her daughter, and no war ripping Westeros apart would change that fact. "Besides, perhaps Mella will be able to help Jaime bargain to get Sansa back."

"Are you really that naïve?" Robb demanded irritably, before he pressed his face into his hands and sighed. He had been snappy of late, and it wasn't fair of him to take his problems out on his mother. "I'm sorry, Mother. I just don't know that this was the wisest idea."

"Your Grace." One of Robb's men entered the tent with a scroll of parchment in his hand. Robb opened his mouth to chastise him, then closed it abruptly. There was a grim look in the man's eyes as he handed the letter to Robb. "I bring grave news. Winterfell has fallen to Theon Greyjoy."

"We should buy Mella a horse," Jaime insisted as they traipsed through the trees on foot. He had seen how many times the Princess had to gather her skirts to avoid tripping over a tree root or stepping in mud. It was not only that, but Mella was an attractive young woman travelling through dangerous territory. The faster she got to King's Landing, the better.

The dark-haired girl turned to glare at her uncle. "You are meant to remain quiet."

"We will get her a horse when there is opportunity to," Brienne stated briskly. She could not disagree with Jaime's suggestion – she would feel much safer if Mella was able to get to King's Landing quickly, even if she did travel alone. They had already made it almost halfway without incident, yet although Mella had tried her best to conceal herself, there were prying eyes all over the kingdom.

"Is it true that you threw Bran from the tower because he witnessed you and my mother?" Mella's hard eyes were fixated on Jaime, and he was certain that he would see no mercy from her. The girl had been lied to by her family, and had to discover the truth from the Starks. "Is it true that my siblings are conceived of incest between you and the Queen?"

"I don't really want to talk about this now," Jaime said dryly, darting a suspicious glance at Brienne. The woman tugged at his ropes, causing him to grimace. He was filthy and bearded, a long way from the groomed and handsome man who had rode out from King's Landing to raise an army.

"You'd never want to talk about it," Mella shot back at him, cursing in a very unladylike fashion as the hem of her dress got caught on a fallen branch. Brienne sighed heavily and handed her a knife. After a brief look of astonishment, Mella leaned down and sliced at the hem of her dress. She would appear in King's Landing like a beggar before her brother and mother, but perhaps she was too proud now to care what they thought of her. She would contest Joffrey's right to rule, and perhaps even become Queen – but things would not be that simple. She found herself missing Robb more than ever.

"I will, but only at the right time, which isn't now." Jaime continued to wander along, feeling like a fool with his hands tied in front of him. What was he meant to tell the girl, that she was her father's sole true heir? She would have figured that much out from the rumours in any case, as it seemed she believed them. What more was there that could possibly be said?

"It's never the right time," Mella said icily, returning the knife to Brienne as they continued to walk. Her feet were sore and her legs ached from the constant trekking, but she was not going to complain. Mella was no longer a spoilt little Princess, and she was determined to prove that in any way she could.

"There's a small village up ahead," Brienne pointed out, beginning to tire of the bickering between the Princess and the Kingslayer. "We will see if we can find you a horse there, Princess Mella. However, I'm not sure that riding to King's Landing alone would be…"

"It's only a few days' hard ride from here," Mella interjected, tossing back her dark braid. It had been sensible to tie her raven-coloured hair back when it kept snagging in branches. It was either that, or cut it short, and she had baulked at that idea. "So long as I have some supplies, I will be alright. I am a good rider, and I can spend the night in taverns. Once I tell the owner who I am…"

"That would be stupid," Jaime contradicted her, causing Mella's cheeks to flame red as she glowered across at him. "That's practically giving them permission to hold you hostage in order to get money from our family, or even the Starks. They could see who the higher bidder is. You would be better off pretending to be a squire or young knight. We can get you clothes…"

"My hair is too long for me to pass as a boy," Mella protested, her voice hitching slightly as she realised what must happen. It was utterly ridiculous to be vain about such a thing, she knew that. Yet she had always been proud of her onyx locks, of how long and silky her hair had grown to be.

"Brienne." Jaime's tone was heavy. "Would you do the honour? I'm a little tied up, as you can see."

"If you would sit, Princess." Brienne's tone was kind, but Mella felt her hands shaking as she sat down on a log. Her eyes burned and she was furious and ashamed of herself. I will not cry. Not over something as insignificant as this. So she screwed her eyes shut as Brienne started to cut at her hair with the knife.

Stannis Baratheon was fuming. He had lost the Battle of Blackwater, and many of his men in the process. Melisandre had predicted victory – but he was yet to have one. Gritting his teeth, he whipped around as the red woman herself entered the room. Stannis regarded her closely. Davos did not trust her, but then again, Davos was not a true believer in the Lord of Light. Was Stannis? He couldn't be certain, but he believed in whatever was the most likely to bring him victory.

"You seem troubled, my King." Melisandre crossed over to him in a swirl of red silks. Stannis looked out of the window once more, watching the waves crashing over the rocks. Storm's End was a sure sight nicer than Dragonstone. Why Robert had given their ancestral home to Renly, the youngest brother, was beyond him. Robert had been a fool, and now he was dead. Stannis should be King – and yet there was one who rivalled him, whose claim was surely better than his, and that bothered him.

"Of course I'm troubled," Stannis replied brusquely, glancing over his shoulder at her. "We lost the battle, don't you remember? You promised victory, but where is it?"

"The Lord of Light has seen fit to test you." Melisandre placed a soothing hand on Stannis's arm. Her presence at times aggravated him, yet her touch always seemed to bring him peace. He relaxed without meaning to. "There is an obstacle in the way, one which would prevent you from taking the throne. You are his champion, your Grace, but there is another who claims to be. She is unfit for the throne."

"Mella." Stannis grated the word out. He had never exactly disliked the girl – she had been a far kinder person than Joffrey – but he had found himself hoping without believing that Mella had been another of Cersei's bastard children with Jaime. Yet how could she be? She was Robert's very image. Mella had a better claim, even Stannis could not argue with that – yet she was a mere girl of seventeen, little more than a child, and female. It would be ridiculous to have a child Queen.

"Robert's daughter." Melisandre spoke with something like disdain in her voice. "The daughter of a drunk stag and a manipulative lion. The people of Westeros will not want such a Queen. The Lord of Light would see her blood shed to make you King."

"And you're sure of that, are you?" Stannis's tone was sour. "Last I heard, the girl was north with the Starks. What if she makes an ally of them? I cannot afford to have her raising an army against me. I already have too many battles to fight."

"There is another." Melisandre's voice was soft, like a whisper on the wind, and for some reason it sent chills running down Stannis's spine. He turned to fully face her then, brow furrowing into a frown.

"Another what?"

"Another claimant for the throne." Melisandre crossed over to the flames, watching intently. The news had troubled her, but the Lord of Light had never been wrong before. The flames writhed and danced before her eyes. Fire and blood. "A dragon."

"A Targaryen?" Alarm bells started to ring in Stannis's head, before he shook them away. "They are all dead."

"Not this one." Melisandre's voice grew louder and more confident as she turned her attention away from the beckoning of the fire. "The princeling is of Aerys's blood, and he wants the crown he is entitled to. There is also another still living, Aerys's only daughter."

Stannis raked a hand through his hair. He'd heard the rumours, but he had not been certain that they were true. So it was not only Daenerys, but another Targaryen. Considering Viserys had died in Essos, it was likely Aegon…but how could that be? The boy's skull had been smashed against a wall.

"Is she coming to claim the throne too?"

"The flames say that she is Mother of Dragons and freer of slaves," Melisandre stated, with a shrug of her shoulders. "They say nothing about her return."

Mella raked her fingers through her absurdly short hair, self-conscious as she entered King's Landing. Her hair was almost shoulder-length, but she still felt…well, like she could be a boy. It was ideal for the journey, but now that she had reached her destination, she was uncomfortable with appearing so untidily in front of her family. Mella looked up at the Red Keep, shielding her eyes from the sun as she rode towards the gates. The guards barred the way and she stared haughtily down at them.

"Do you not recognise your Princess when you see her?"

They were immediately stumbling over themselves to allow her through, apologising profusely but deliberately making no comment on her hair or peasant attire. It was her sense of authority that shone through. Even dressed as a pauper, Mella's demeanour marked her out for what she was.

"You have returned, Princess Mella."

She spun around to see Petyr Baelish striding across the courtyard towards her. No doubt his spies had been following her, and Mella shuddered to think that even disguised as a boy, there were still people who had the ability to find her. He bowed deeply, but Mella did not miss how his lip curled at her attire.

"Indeed I have, Lord Baelish. I noticed many soldiers in the streets. Has there been some kind of trouble in my absence?"

"Your uncle Stannis attempted to take the city from ships," Petyr offered her a wan smile. "As you can no doubt see, we were the victors."

"Of course." Mella had never liked Petyr and she liked him less right now. She could tell when she was being judged, and Petyr was judging her severely. "Where would my mother and brother happen to be, do you know?"

"May I suggest a bath and clean clothes first, Princess?" Petyr's eyes lingered on her hair and raked over her clothing. Mella had been uncertain of whether she should appear before her family as she was, or whether she should pretty herself up first. Petyr's question made her decision for her, and she forced a smile.

"Oh, no. I think I will appear before my family right away."

"Of course." Petyr's lips thinned, but he would not dare contradict her. He began to stride through the corridors and Mella followed him, matching his pace. "Many things have happened in your absence. Your grandfather Lord Tywin is now Hand of the King, and Joffrey's betrothal to Sansa has been terminated in favour of Margaery Tyrell."

"What will happen to Sansa now?" Mella inquired, unable to help but be concerned for the younger girl. King's Landing was not a safe place if you were branded an enemy of the crown.

Petyr waved a dismissive hand. "She will remain here, as leverage against her brother."

Mella entered the throne room, where Petyr stopped at the door, gesturing for her to go inside. Joffrey was sitting on the throne, conversing – or rather, arguing – with Cersei. They both fell silent and turned as Mella's too-big boots clacked across the tiles. A sneer contorted Cersei's face.

"Who sent you in? You have not been granted an audience with his Grace…"

"Hello, Mother." Mella's tone was completely devoid of emotion, and she watched the sudden change in Cersei's attitude. The Queen's green eyes widened and she pressed a hand over her mouth as if to stifle a shriek. She descended the stairs and went to embrace her daughter, but then seemed to think the better of it upon inspection of Mella's clothes.

"Mella? Goodness, what are you wearing? What happened to your hair? Are you alright, my sweet girl?"

Mella looked over Cersei's shoulder to see Joffrey scowling deeply. He was clearly not pleased with her return, and she could hazard a guess as to why. Of course he didn't want to see the sister he had attempted to kill. She smiled at him, tilting her head to the side and raising her eyebrows.

"What's the matter, Joffrey? Are you not happy to see your sister alive and well?"

"The correct form of address is 'your Grace'," Joffrey corrected coldly, his eyes narrowing, "I expect propriety even from you, sister."

"Yet 'your Grace' is the term given to the monarch." Mella brushed past her mother and ascended the stairs to the throne. She and her younger brother were of a height, but as he was sitting in the throne, she had undermined his power play by stepping up in front of him. "And as you are not the true son of Robert Baratheon, surely you cannot be King."

"How dare you!" Joffrey spat, leaping to his feet. Mella did not even flinch, for perhaps her brother's violent actions had frightened her in the past, but now he was just a little boy throwing a temper tantrum. "I am the King, you bitch."

"No, you aren't. You aren't even of Robert's blood." Mella turned to glance over her shoulder at Cersei. The Queen had gone rather pale and stared up at her children with the look of a rabbit cornered by a wolf. "Isn't that so, Mother?"

Mella knew that she was forcing Cersei into a compromising position. If she told the truth, her secret would be exposed. Yet if she lied, she risked the possibility of turning her own daughter away. Cersei licked her lips, glancing between Mella and Joffrey. Her black-haired little doe and her golden-haired little lion. She had to make a decision between her children. She offered them a strained smile.

"If you're talking about those ridiculous rumours, Mella dear, they are completely untrue…"

"Liar!" Mella roared at her, making Cersei flinch. Her temper was beginning to rise. She did not want to look at Joffrey and see the satisfied smirk on his face. "You know that I'm the only true child you had by Robert. You know it!"

"We will speak of this later," Cersei said, although her voice was little more than a whisper. Mella shook her head slowly, unable to believe that her mother would not admit to the truth even as it was shoved in her face. She whirled around and stormed from the throne room. Baratheons did not accept defeat. She would never forgive, and she would never, ever forget. The crimes of the past could not go unpunished.