Chapter Eighteen: Betrothals Can Be Broken
A/N: So sorry for the long wait guys! There was uni, and just when I was ready to upload this chapter, Fanfiction started messing around with me. Seriously though, I wanted to thank all of you for your amazing support. Over 200 reviews, nearly 200 favourites and nearly 400 follows! I never thought this story would get that kind of response. I really hope this chapter meets your expectations :)
Robb did not often seek out his mother. For the crimes she had committed, there could be no recompense. He was still furious with what she had done…and yet, he was still young, and needed the worldly advice of a parent who could understand him. Lacking his father, it would seem that Catelyn was all he had left. That notion, that he needed her perhaps more than she needed him, was what caused Robb to stalk into her tent in such a surly mood. As always, she appeared pleased and almost relieved by his presence, but Robb waved her away.
"I need to speak with you about something, and you aren't going to like it."
Robb's abrupt tone caused Catelyn to sink back into her seat, a troubled expression across her face. The King in the North mentally prepared himself for this, because he knew that his words would meet only with his mother's consternation. Raking his dark curls back, Robb leaned heavily against the table.
"I must know if there is a way to break my betrothal to one of Lord Frey's daughters."
"What?" Catelyn's reaction was almost precisely as Robb had pictured it, blue eyes wide with shock. "Seriously, Robb, you cannot be considering such a thing. Lord Frey would not take such a betrayal lightly…"
"Just as I do not take yours lightly," Robb replied tersely, effectively silencing Catelyn. He pushed himself away from the table and started to pace. He was not a lovestruck fool – or at least, that was what he was trying to tell himself. Mella would return in time, and when she did, he wanted to make her his wife. The marriage would have political benefits, too. He just needed his mother to see them.
"You're thinking of Mella again." Catelyn's voice was heavy. She sighed. "There is a possible way out of your arrangement with Lord Frey – but it involves great risk."
Robb was aware of taking risks by now. Every battle he fought involved risks. What was another risk in terms of an ally? While he did risk losing Lord Frey, he stood to gain perhaps the most powerful women in Westeros – Mella Baratheon. Her legitimate claim to the throne was already rallying many to her cause.
"I'm willing to take it."
"Your father and Robert were very good friends since boyhood," Catelyn stated, pushing herself to her feet. Her expression was grim, and Robb was beginning to notice new lines etched in her fair face. Her age was beginning to show. "You were born a year before Mella. It would be very possible that Robert and your father concocted a betrothal then. Of course, you were both infants. Yet a secret kept in writing, one of your betrothal to Mella Baratheon, could save you."
Robb knew that there was no such betrothal. What his mother suggested was folly indeed, and not at all honourable. Ned Stark had been an honourable man – but Robb was beginning to see now that honour was a form of betrayal in itself. If he could convince Lord Frey that his mother's idea was actually fact, then perhaps Robb could escape this unwanted confrontation with his head intact.
"Thank you, Mother." Robb's tone was brisk and he made to stride from the tent, but…
"Robb."
Normally he would have kept walking. Usually, he ignored his mother's pleas for him to listen, but had he not listened to her? Had she not helped him? Heaving a weary sigh, Robb spun around to face Catelyn.
"Yes, Mother?"
Catelyn's smile was sad. "Your father would be proud of you. No matter if you stray from the path of honour, as long as you do what your heart tells you is right, he would approve."
"This isn't my heart telling me, Mother," Robb called over his shoulder as he strode away. "It is my head as well."
Mella's eyes raked over the silhouette of the castle at Storm's End. Her breath fogged out in front of her in the cold dawn, and once more hesitation stiffened her bones. Had she made the right decision? She had her two dozen loyal followers, hardly what one would consider an army by any means. But upon whispers of her escape circulating King's Landing, she found herself followed by a group who sought to accompany her rather than drag her kicking and screaming back to Joffrey.
More than ever, Mella wished to return to north. She missed Robb so much that her heart ached for him, just to see him. Every time his name was mentioned her heart would skip a beat, a smile would tweak at the corners of her lips. Yet Mella was not fleeing north to hide behind the young man she loved, relying on him for protection. Cersei was a strong woman, and so was she. Mella Baratheon was amassing an army of her own – and if there was one powerful play she hoped to sway to her cause, it would be her uncle Stannis.
To tell the truth, Mella had never been fond of her uncle. Renly had always been her favourite. Dear Renly, who was now dead. But Stannis had his feet so firmly planted in his honour that Mella knew he must at least hear what she had to say. After all, the legitimate daughter of the King had a better claim than the King's oldest brother. Surely Stannis would listen to reason and agree to help her. It wasn't as though she had nothing to offer him.
"Princess?" It was Ser Olivier, Livia's husband and one of the soldiers who had accompanied Mella south. "Do you truly think this to be wise? Will Stannis really welcome us with open arms?"
Mella threw him a sharp glance. "I did not say that. However, I highly doubt he will show his own niece open hostility."
The drawbridge started to lower and she took another deep breath. So finally, they had been seen. She steeled herself to face her uncle, drawing herself up to full height. Stannis would not hear anything from a weak-willed, meek little girl. She had to be a strong and confident woman to earn his respect…and also his loyalty.
Yet Mella frowned, because none of the men crossing the drawbridge were Stannis, or any of his men for that manner. In fact, many of them waved the colours of…House Targaryen. Mella's blue eyes widened in horror and she knew that she had made a horrendous mistake. The rumours of a threat in the south had not gone unfounded. Targaryen supporters had managed to gain victory over Stannis.
"Good lady, what brings you here?" The young man who spoke to Mella was only two or three years her senior, and strikingly handsome. She took in his features and felt very sick. His hair was silver-blonde, his eyes violet…no. This had to be some kind of jest. This Targaryen boy…Aegon, was it?...he couldn't be real.
"My name is Mella Baratheon." She lifted her chin. This was not what she had expected, but she would show courage in the face of the unknown. "Only legitimate child of Robert Baratheon, and rightful Queen of Westeros. To whom do I speak?"
Another man stepped forward, this one older, with thinning red hair and skin like tough leather.
"You have the honour of addressing Aegon Targaryen. He is the rightful King, not you and your nest of usurpers."
"Jon, please." Aegon's tone was curt, before it became more pleasant when he addressed Mella once more. "Lady Baratheon, it would seem that you came seeking your uncle Stannis, but he is held prisoner within these walls. However, it is most…fortunate, that you stumbled upon us. You and your companions will be escorted inside the castle walls."
Mella narrowed her eyes. She understood pleasantries when she heard them, however her upbringing in court meant that she could listen to political drivel and know what was truly being said.
"Are you taking me prisoner, Targaryen?"
He smiled without a hint of malice. "I prefer the term 'guest'."
"Why should I agree to accompany you?" Mella inquired, knowing that she was stalling for time. Aegon's forces severely outnumbered her own small band of loyalists. If she did not agree, surely all of them would be slaughtered.
"Have no fear, sweet lady, I mean you no harm." Aegon laughed, but there was something glittering in his violet eyes as he held out his hand. "Why would I? After all, I have no doubt that you will be of great use to me."
"Lord Frey." Robb was nervous, and felt that he had every right to be. The man himself may not be particularly intimidating in form, but he had learned quickly that he should never underestimate anyone – especially a man as unpredictable as Walder Frey. "I come here today to announce, to my great chagrin, that I am unable to marry one of your daughters."
"What do you mean?" Lord Frey scowled across at him. "It was part of the deal of letting you cross, wasn't it? Do you mean to say that you're going to go back on your bargain?"
"Not at all." Robb licked his dry lips, hoping and praying to the gods old and new that his lies would pay off in the long run. He felt dishonest, but he had convinced himself that this was not entirely about love. "In fact, if you consent to it, my uncle Edmure will wed one of the girls in my place. All of the other conditions still stand."
"Then why not this one?" Lord Frey's glare seemed to pierce his very soul. "Come on, out with it. Are my girls not good enough for you, your Grace?"
The sarcasm did sting, but Robb had long since put himself above letting such petty things affect him. He took a deep breath and glanced across at Catelyn, who offered him a brief nod. He turned his attention back on Lord Frey.
"I cannot marry one of your daughters because I was already betrothed. I was unaware of this until I recently discovered a written agreement between my father, Eddard Stark, and Robert Baratheon of the betrothal of myself to his daughter, Mella Baratheon. Therefore, I cannot in good conscience marry one of your daughters now that I know this."
"A marriage contract?" Lord Frey seemed more amused than anything, scoffing at Robb's words. "You're like your father. All honour, no common sense. No matter – your uncle Edmure will do for one of my girls. But I ask to be invited to this wedding of yours, since you've snubbed my daughters for this Baratheon."
Robb didn't necessarily want Lord Frey and his numerous children and grandchildren at his wedding, but he knew he had little choice. Being King meant you didn't always get to choose what you wanted.
"Of course."
Mella found herself unable to eat the food on the plate in front of her, but able to consume plenty of the wine she was offered. She was fully aware of Aegon's gaze upon her the entire time, curious and searching. Unable to take his intense look anymore, Mella set down her knife and fork with a deliberate clatter, reaching for her goblet and effectively emptying it with one swallow.
"You said I was of use to you, Aegon. What use might that be?"
"Think about it." Aegon leaned across the table. "You are the last true Baratheon heir, I the last Targaryen. Many dispute which of us is entitled to the throne. But, when my plan comes to fruition, they won't need to."
Mella frowned. She had learned during her lessons that Targaryens were often seen to be either brilliant, or mad. She wondered which Aegon was, a shiver running down her spine. Perhaps a combination of both.
"It's easy enough to understand." Aegon refilled Mella's goblet, from which she took a grateful sip, still very much aware of his violet gaze upon her. "We will become a united front, you and I. We will give Westeros an undisputed monarch."
Mella suddenly felt very cold and very hot in quick succession. "What do you mean?"
Aegon laughed easily. "I mean, Lady Baratheon, that I intend to make you my Queen."
"No." The word came out very harsh, and Mella banged her goblet down on the table. If she knew anything, it was that she would not become any man's pawn. Aegon was very attractive, but she had no doubt in her mind that he was dangerous. She would be a Queen in her own right, not by his side. "I am already betrothed. To Robb Stark."
"Betrothals can be broken," Aegon waved a dismissive hand, leaning back in his chair and examining her critically. "You should embrace this chance for change, Mella. This could mean gaining the throne without war."
"You are a fool if you believe that," Mella spat out the words, pushing herself to her feet. Her dinner remained cold and untouched – a waste. "Embrace this, Aegon: I will never be your wife and I will certainly never give you any such heir."