Everything in A song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin.

Basically, I've decided to write a Bran x Myrcella fanfiction because I am disappointed that there aren't many.

Myrcella Baratheon: Bride of a Northern Savage

Chapter 01

Myrcella Baratheon

Myrcella Baratheon, a beautiful blonde girl, shivered from the cold once she and her younger brother Tommen stepped out of the wheelhouse, following her mother, Queen Cersei Lannister. Indeed, Myrcella was a princess, a princess of the Seven Kingdoms, and daughter of the king, Robert Baratheon, first of his name, who was just exchanging greetings with the Stark family.

Myrcella shivered again, the fur coats and layers given to her weren't good enough to protect the skinny girl from the cold wind of the North. She immediately disliked this place, Winterfell, because of it. It was nothing like in King's Landing, where it was warm, or even hot. Where the sun gave warmth and light at a high intensity. Here the sunlight seemed to be more dimmer. Yet, Myrcella had to give credit that apart from the streets of King's Landing, it smelt fresh air, compared to the stink of piss and alcohol in the capital. Not to mention that for the first time in her life, Myrcella saw snow. It was summer snow only, but snow still.

Smiling at Tommen, Myrcella observed the Stark family. She felt uneasy and nervous. Very nervous, actually, and terrified. From what she learnt, the Northerners were far different from the people of the South. Almost everyone living in the South, especially her mother, called the Northmen savages for these differences. One, they did not have any knights. When Tommen and Myrcella asked why the North did not have any knights, the answer was that the Northerners are too savage to be considered noble to be knighted. Another major reason was that they did not believe in the Seven, but in the Old Gods, the gods of the Weirwood Trees. There was a Godswood in the Red Keep, but it was always treated as a garden where you can play, rather than a place of the gods. Myrcella heard that the Northerners pray to the Weirwood Trees, which were at the same time beautiful, but also spooky with those carved faces on them.

Septa Eglantine told her that the Northerners are not true men, that they are like the Wildlings beyond the Wall; heretics and defilers, believing in false gods who aren't gods at all, but are actually demons, evil spirits. Myrcella recalled that when the Andals came to Westeros, they began exterminating the Children of the Forest, ancient creatures dwelling in the woods. The North was the only kingdom where the Faith of the Seven did not reach. Eglantine told her stories that many Northerners commit horrifying acts, for example, the Mormonts mating with bears, and the Starks transforming into direwolves, which was a practice of dark sorcery known as skin changing.

Mother also added something as an expression of her low views on the Northmen, though Myrcella this time believed it hardly. She loved her mother, but the girl had to admit, Cersei had low views on everyone who wasn't a Lannister, especially the common folk. A lion does not concern himself with the opinion of the sheep, she would say. Her mother was a Lannister, whose sigil was a golden lion. She also said that whoever was not a member of her family, was their enemy. Myrcella didn't like these words. First of all, there were people whom she didn't want to have as enemies, she liked them. One such person was Ser Barristan Selmy, the lord-commander of the Kingsguard. He was an old knight, but apart from the other knights of the Kingsguard, whom Myrcella feared, especially Ser Meryn Trant with his strange looks at her, as if he wanted to do something to her, he was kind and gentle. A true knight, like in the songs. To Myrcella and Tommen he was like a kind grandfather figure. Whenever he would guard them during the night, he would tell them bedtime stories when they were little. Way different then her maternal grandfather Tywin, who barely smiled, even at her and Tommen. Maybe he did love them, but he did not show it.

Also, it sounded hypocritical. She didn't know who made up that phrase, but it made her mother a hypocrite. Uncle Tyrion, who was small in height, and ugly, but kind and gently, just like Uncle Jaime and Ser Barristan. Yet, mother despised him. No, hated him as if he was an enemy of hers. Now, Cersei told her children the same thing about the Starks.

Standing at the courtyard, Myrcella saw ten people standing, waiting for the other members of the royal family. The tallest man was obviously Lord Eddard Stark, with brown hair and beard. Next to him was a tall women with auburn hair, possibly his wife. The other two was a boy with auburn hair in his late teens, and a tall girl of his age with brown hair held in a braid. Her belly was swollen, obviously pregnant. Myrcella assumed that she was Sansa Stark, Joffrey's possible fiancée, and the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard, but then why was she pregnant.

"Robb and… Sansa?" her father asked, confused at the swollen stomach, causing Eddard and his wife to smile.

"No, no, your grace," the lady of Winterfell spoke. "This is Robb's wife, Lady Alys Karstark."

"Ah, my congratulations then, boy," Robert then answered. Next to Robb and Alys stood a beautiful girl with auburn hair. She looked just like Lady Stark, but younger. With her stood a boy.

"Well, well. Your are a beauty, just like your mother." Robert complimented. The girl, who was definitely Sansa, blushed, smiling. The teenage boy with slightly long brown hair, firmly nodded in agreement.

"And who is that? Another Stark?" Robert chuckled at the boy's stern look.

"Lord Domeric Bolton, your grace." The boy firmly answered. Myrcella froze in fear. She heard about the Northern House Bolton and their habit of flaying people. As if to confirm that, Domeric wore the sigil of his house, a red, flayed man, on his chest. Next to the two stood a teenage girl with brown hair, just like Eddard Stark's.

"And who are you?" Robert asked, smiling.

"Arya Stark." the girl answered with pride. A boy standing next to her introduced himself as Ned Umber, stammering, obviously nervous of seeing the king for the first time. The last two were boys; a boy with medium-length brown hair around Myrcella's age, and a little boy younger than Tommen with auburn hair. Myrcella soon learned that these were Lord Eddard's youngest sons; Bran Stark and Rickon Stark respectively.

"Take me to the crypts, Ned. I need to pay my respects." Robert spoke to his old friend, only for her mother to interfere.

"My love, we've been riding for a month…"

"Ned!" an annoyed Robert called for him. Eddard apologized to the queen, only for Cersei to immediately ignore him as she was approached by Jaime.

Eddard Stark

They went down to the crypt together, Ned and this king he scarcely recognized. The winding stone steps were narrow. Ned went first with the lantern. "I was starting to think we would never reach Winterfell," Robert complained as they descended. "In the south, the way they talk about my Seven Kingdoms, a man forgets that your part is as big as the other six combined."

"I trust you enjoyed the journey, Your Grace?"

Robert snorted. "Bogs and forests and fields, and scarcely a decent inn north of the Neck. I've never seen such a vast emptiness. Where are all your people?"

"Likely they were too shy to come out," Ned jested. He could feel the chill coming up the stairs, a cold breath from deep within the earth.

"Kings are a rare sight in the north." Robert snorted. "More likely they were hiding under the snow. Snow, Ned!" The king put one hand on the wall to steady himself as they descended.

"Late summer snows are common enough," Ned said. "I hope they did not trouble you. They are usually mild."

"The Others take your mild snows," Robert swore. "What will this place be like in winter? I shudder to think."

"The winters are hard," Ned admitted. "But the Starks will endure. We always have."

"You need to come south," Robert told him. "You need a taste of summer before it flees. In Highgarden there are fields of golden roses that stretch away as far as the eye can see. The fruits are so ripe they explode in your mouth—melons, peaches, fireplums, you've never tasted such sweetness. You'll see, I brought you some. Even at Storm's End, with that good wind off the bay, the days are so hot you can barely move. And you ought to see the towns, Ned! Flowers everywhere, the markets bursting with food, the summerwines so cheap and so good that you can get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone is fat and drunk and rich." He laughed and slapped his own ample stomach a thump. "And the girls, Ned!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling. "I swear, women lose all modesty in the heat. They swim naked in the river, right beneath the castle. Even in the streets, it's too damn hot for wool or fur, so they go around in these short gowns, silk if they have the silver and cotton if not, but it's all the same when they start sweating and the cloth sticks to their skin, they might as well be naked." The king laughed happily.

Robert Baratheon had always been a man of huge appetites, a man who knew how to take his pleasures. That was not a charge anyone could lay at the door of Eddard Stark. Yet Ned could not help but notice that those pleasures were taking a toll on the king. Robert was breathing heavily by the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, his face red in the lantern light as they stepped out into the darkness of the crypt.

After visiting the tomb of Eddard's late sister Lyanna Stark, King Robert began discussing the reasons he came. One of them was the joining of their houses.

"We were meant to rule together." Robert spoke. "If Lyanna had lived, we should have been brothers, bound by blood as well as affection. Well, it is not too late. I have a son. You have a daughter. My Joff and your Sansa shall join our houses, as Lyanna and I might once have done."

Eddard bit his lip once his old friend told him of this offer. Of course, he couldn't refuse to the king, but on the other hand, he could not refuse Roose Bolton. For centuries, an ancient rival existed between the Starks and the Boltons. With Domeric, the only son of Roose, fostering in Winterfell, both Eddard and Roose agreed to a betrothal between Domeric and Sansa as a chance of improving the relationship between the two families.

"You offer honours me, Robert," Eddard hoped that by addressing him by his name would somehow help. "But Sansa is already betrothed to Domeric, Roose Bolton's son and heir."

"Ahh, fuck with them Boltons!" Robert laughed as if it wasn't a problem. "Call off the betrothal. Your daughter needs to see the South."

"As much as I would love to, I could not." Eddard spoke, trying to encourage the king to see reason. "This betrothal is my only chance to improve my relations with the Boltons. They are going to marry very soon. I have the North to rule, Robert. Robb is not ready to become the next warden."

When Eddard said that Robert's smile immediately vanished. The king was obviously displeased with the news. "Alright, let the Boltons have her. At least you have another daughter, that Arya of yours. She is a wild one I see, just like my Lyanna. She and Joffrey will make a great pair…"

"She is betrothed too." Eddard answered. "To Ned Umber."

"That boy, the runt of the giants?!" Robert asked, obviously surprised. Still, he wasn't happy with this kind of perspective.

"Call this one off." Robert stubbornly said.

"I gave my vows, Robert." Ned argued. "You know I could not do this."

"I want our houses united, and I will have them united." Robert remained stubborn. Eddard mentally cursed him. Sometimes Robert could be so irritating.

"How about an alternative?" Eddard asked when an idea suddenly came up.

"What kind of an alternative?"

"I have sons too, not only daughters." Eddard explained. "My son, and your daughter, Princess Myrcella, will join our houses."

"From what I saw, your boy already has a wife." Robert almost snarled.

"You're forgetting, Robert, I have sons, not a son. What I propose is to betroth my second son Bran Stark and your only daughter Myrcella Baratheon." Eddard answered. He stood silent as he looked at Robert, waiting for an answer. Finally, the fat king sighed before reluctantly making a decision.

"Alright, Eddard. You'll have it. Myrcella will marry Bran." Robert snorted. "Come on, I've spent a month travelling and I'm need of a drink and good, old boar!"

Smiling at his friend, Eddard followed the king as the two made for the staircase leading them up to the surface.