Chapter Seventeen: Send Out The Wolves
A/N: So I'm still alive! Finally, another chapter. Things are getting intense for Mella. I promise she and Robb will be together again soon (for good this time!), but until then she has some obstacles to face.
Sansa Stark seemed so very lonely, Mella thought as she passed the guard and entered the younger girl's chambers. She wondered how often Sansa had visitors. Although allowed out of her rooms and indeed to venture around the capital as though she was only a guest, there was no denying that Sansa was a political prisoner. Mella wondered if she herself had become a prisoner, a prisoner of the will of her family. With Robert dead, and Ned's claims that she was the sole legitimate heir to the throne, she grew more confused by the day. How was a mere girl of seventeen to take the throne, even if it was entitled to her?
"Sansa." Mella was almost afraid to approach the Stark girl. Would she be seen as a stag, or a lion? Their precarious friendship may depend on whether Sansa perceived Mella to be more Baratheon or Lannister. She crossed over hesitantly, sitting beside the auburn-haired girl. Sansa spared her an almost frightened glance, and Mella's heart hardened towards her family. "How have you been treated?"
"Well enough." The words were no more than a whisper, and Mella could tell that Sansa wasn't willing to say too much in front of a girl who could chose to turn her in. After she'd trusted the Lannisters, they'd killed her father. It was no wonder she was reluctant to put her trust in Mella. The dark-haired girl tentatively put an arm around Sansa. The younger girl didn't flinch away from the gesture, but neither did she respond.
"You can talk to me, Sansa," Mella assured her, wishing that she had her uncle Tyrion's gift with words, that she knew exactly what to say to make Sansa feel better. "I tried to escape them too."
"Then why did you come back?" Sansa inquired, glancing across at Mella and shrugging her arm off.
Mella sighed heavily. Had she lost her before she'd already begun? "For you, Sansa. My uncle Jaime was prisoner there, and I hoped to trade him for you. He and Brienne haven't reached the capital yet, but when they do…"
Sansa shook her head vigorously. "The Queen wouldn't. She'd be happy that Jaime is back, but she wouldn't let me go home."
Sharp, fast-paced footsteps resonating throughout the corridor outside made both girls lapse into silence. Mella pushed herself to her feet as Joffrey entered the room, regarding both of them with a disdainful expression across his face. She felt a sharp pain in her palms and realised that she had unconsciously curled her hands into tight fists, so hard the nails pierced her skin.
"Sister. Sansa." Joffrey's eyes roved over them, before they narrowed and turned upon Mella. "You have not yet sworn fealty to me."
Mella could have struck him. There was a time and place, and it was not here and now. Poor Sansa did not need to hear them arguing. Perhaps Joffrey had deduced as much himself, and thought that such a situation would force Mella to swear fealty to him. She prickled with anger at his audacity.
"Nor will I. After all, who knows for certain if you are more stag…or pure lion."
The question of his legitimacy hung in the air like a threat, and a scowl crossed Joffrey's face as he stalked over to his sister. Mella lifted her chin and watched him, rocking back on her heels when he slapped her across the face. Sansa gasped in shock and scrambled to her feet, but Mella was not all that surprised. Joffrey may not be permitted to strike his lady, but his sister was another thing entirely. She didn't so much as touch her cheek, merely smiled as the side of her face started to redden.
"Is this the behaviour of a King, your Grace?" Mella asked snidely.
"You will pay for your insolence!" Joffrey shouted, apoplectic. "How dare you question my authority! I am the King!"
"Then start acting like one!" Mella seethed in return, making Joffrey lapse into silence for just a moment. She could see now that her brother was a monster, that he would never consent to make peace with the Starks. It was up to her to do what was right. She realised that now. No matter the cost, she would have to make things right in Westeros.
"There has been news from Storm's End." Cersei surveyed her oldest daughter over her goblet of wine. Since Mella's outburst in the throne room, her mother had been trying to include her in everything, to do her utmost to prove that Mella was loved and trusted. However, it wasn't enough. Cersei's claims of the younger three's legitimacy to save her own skin also pushed Mella down the line of succession, when they both knew it should be her on the throne currently, not Joffrey.
"Oh?" Mella raised her eyebrows, cutting at her carrots carefully. Storm's End was where her uncle Stannis resided, after his failed attempt to take King's Landing during her absence. Any news coming from her uncle's place of refuge was sure to be interesting, so she watched her mother intently as she ate.
"Stannis has been occupied in northern regions, but he is returning to Storm's End with all of his remaining ships." Cersei's smug tone assured Mella that whatever the news was, it would not bode well for Stannis. "There has been talk of a threat that has left Storm's End under siege. A powerful enemy, by the sound of things."
"Is that any reason to be pleased?" Mella inquired, putting her knife and fork down. She suddenly felt uneasy. Any threat to her uncle would likely also be a threat to her. It was also concerning that they didn't know exactly who this apparent foe was, or Cersei would have mentioned a name.
"Of course, my sweet." Cersei offered her daughter a saccharine smile. "Our enemies may indeed destroy each other, then we would not even have to lift a hand against them. Is that not reason for celebration?"
"We should make peace with the Starks," Mella insisted. She knew that part of her reasoning was selfish, part of her desire to see Robb again. They had been separated too many times, and she found that her heart ached for him. Yet another part of the reason was perfectly logical. They should be making more allies, not more enemies.
"Oh, Mella." Cersei exhaled deeply, and her tone became slightly condescending. "My darling daughter, you know little of war and politics. The Starks have betrayed us. Why would we possibly want peace with them now? Only if that Stark boy swears fealty to Joffrey would we even consider such a thing."
"I think that you have grown arrogant." Mella wasn't sure if it was the wine lending to her courage, or if perhaps she'd simply had enough of being told what to think and how to feel. She pushed herself to her feet, as Cersei watched her with a rather startled expression. "You are so used to power by now, so used to sitting holed up in King's Landing with the world at your fingertips that you couldn't possibly imagine an existence that doesn't revolve around that. You had better pray that the Starks don't ever manage to get to King's Landing, because they wouldn't spare you."
"What has gotten into you lately?" Cersei demanded, frowning deeply. Mella never spoke like this. She had been free-spirited at times, but she had never spoken back against her parents. It seemed as though Robert's death had impacted her oldest child more than she could have anticipated. "Do you know who you're beginning to sound like?"
"My father?" Mella laughed, the sound brittle and without mirth. She snatched up her goblet and downed the rest of the wine. It burned its way down her throat and the taste made her wince, but she didn't stop until the goblet was empty and she set it down on the table. "Do I remind you of him now? He used to drink like this too, didn't he? I always wondered why, but now I think I understand."
Cersei walked across to her daughter and caught her arm in a bruising grip. "Mella, stop this."
"Stop what?" Mella wrenched free of her mother, lifting her chin. They were of a height now, something she had failed to notice before. "Is that why you'll left Joffrey have the throne before me, because I remind you too much of my father? Is that why you persist in your self-preserving lies even though Stannis and half of Westeros knows the truth by now?"
Mella knew that she had said enough already. She knew that every reckless word put her in more and more danger. But although her family might be content to live with their lies, she wasn't. The truth was coming out, and she was not going to do anything to stop it. In fact, she encouraged it to spread like wildfire.
"You are drunk," Cersei hissed through her teeth, "Just like your father, you drink away your sorrows instead of facing them."
"Goodnight, Mother." Mella turned on her heel and strode from her mother's rooms. It was only when she reached her own that she pressed her face into her hands and allowed herself to panic, just a little. How long before Cersei was forced to perceive her own daughter as a threat? What would the consequences be? Would Mella face the executioner like Ned Stark, for denying her brother as the true King?
Mella had just come from prayer when she just about collided with Quentyn Martell. She was not a religious zealot, and rarely went to the sept to say her prayers for anyone to hear, but she felt as though she may need the Seven to hold her in favour should she wish to remain in her mother's good graces. She stepped back, a whirl of gold skirts, as Quentyn bowed his head and smiled slightly. The young man was kind, but she was still suspicious of his intentions.
"Forgive me, Princess Mella." Quentyn raked a hand through his dark hair. Despite his attempts at kindness, he appeared to be slightly on edge, as though something was unnerving him. "I should have looked where I was going."
"The fault was mine," Mella insisted, watching the Dornish boy closely. Like Tyrion, she was not easily prone to believing that people were kind for the sake of kindness, but rather because they had some kind of ulterior motive.
"I have not seen much of you lately," Quentyn took a step closer, offering his arm and a charming smile. "Walk with me?"
Mella found that any possible excuses died on her tongue, so she merely nodded and took Quentyn's arm. There were guards stationed all around the palace, watching over her – for Cersei's peace of mind if not for her safety. If anything were to happen to her, if Quentyn attempted to harm her, they would intervene within seconds. It became clear that Quentyn's destination was the gardens, which only roused Mella's suspicions. Such a secluded place, with barely anyone around to see them.
"Quentyn, why the gardens?" she inquired, attempting to sound polite, "I think we should go…"
"No." Quentyn's voice was firmer than Mella had anticipated, and she found her heart pounding faster in her chest. "I wish to speak with you, alone."
"I really must protest…" Mella found her voice now, but Quentyn tugged her in through the rose bushes and spun her around to face him, hands on her shoulders. The contact was most improper, but when she saw the urgency in his eyes, any desire within Mella to struggle melted away. This wasn't what she thought.
"There is a plot to end your life."
Mella went cold all over, and realised that things definitely weren't as they seemed. She had assumed Quentyn to be her enemy, to be taking her to a secluded place in order to harm her…but in fact, it was completely the opposite. Quentyn was her ally. He had taken her aside in order to warn her. She ignored how clammy her palms had gone as she wiped them on her skirts.
"A plot by who?" Mella inquired, her voice hoarse as she struggled to comprehend what Quentyn was saying.
"Your brother, Joffrey." Quentyn gnawed at his lip, as though uncertain whether he should be relaying such information. "Have you not realised, Mella? You are far more important than you realise. All of Westeros is squabbling over legitimacy and here you are, your father's undisputed heir. Joffrey sees you as a threat. He has tried to eliminate you once before."
Mella felt bile rising in her throat. Did she want to question how Quentyn had come by such information, or was it better not to know? He spoke the truth though – her brother had attempted to end her life once before, so why would he refrain from trying again? She swallowed hard.
"And why are you in King's Landing, Quentyn?" Mella asked softly. Surely if he was aware of such plots, he must have plots of his own. Indeed, Quentyn sighed heavily and raked a hand through his hair, looking somewhat guilty.
"My father sent me to Dorne to bring you back with me," Quentyn admitted, "He wished to marry us. I confess now, I don't believe I am capable of doing that."
"You have been a faithful ally, Quentyn," Mella admitted, touching Quentyn's arm and blinking as he drew back, shaking his head fervently.
"I am not your ally, Mella Baratheon." Quentyn's was firm, but not sharp. "I am merely an informant. My family has no desire to ally with either the Lannisters or the Starks. Please, it will do you no good to think of me as your friend."
Mella examined him curiously. He was quite the eccentric young man. "What should I do, then?"
"Run," Quentyn replied simply, before turning away and striding off through the gardens, leaving Mella to stew over what she had just learned, and where she was going to be running to this time.