Everything in A song of Ice and Fire belongs to George R. R. Martin.
Myrcella Baratheon: Bride of a Northern Savage
Chapter 06
Sansa Stark
While she was proud of her little brother marrying Princess Myrcella, Sansa also felt jealousy rising in her heart. Since she was a little girl, she was told about numerous tales and songs of knights and princesses. Mostly from Septa Mordane. After that, Sansa dreamt of one day marrying a prince, and eventually becoming queen. She knew that he dream would come true.
However, these dreams were shattered when her father summoned her to his solar. Mother was already there. Her parents told her that it was decided that she would marry Domeric Bolton, the heir of one of the North's vassal houses. She immediately began complaining that she wanted and had to marry the crown prince, not some ugly, savage northerner. Father scolded her, reminding Sansa that she was a northerner, but the air-headed girl did not want to listen him. She turned to mother for support, only to be 'betrayed' by her as Catelyn agreed to the betrothal.
On that day, Sansa yelled, cried, snapped at her siblings, and accusing the innocent Arya Stark of doing this. She called her Horseface, right in front of the whole family, accusing her sister of ruining her life, stealing her future away from her, and that mother should have fed her to the hunting hounds living in the kennel. After that, both mother and father punished her strictly. It took a long time for her to be sullen and bitter towards her parents and Arya, barely talking with them. Soon, Domeric arrived to be fostered and as time went on, Sansa immediately became infatuated with the heir of Dreadfort.
Still, the dreams remained, despite her being already 17 years old. She immediately believed that Joffrey was what a prince was in the songs; tall, handsome and gallant. Domeric was handsome too. He was tall, athletic and slender, but Joffrey was more handsome, with a soft skin, Sansa believed in that, even if she did not touch him yet.
She finally had the chance when she, her betrothed, Bran, Arya and Ned left the table for a dance. After dancing with Domeric, they changed partners and she ended up with Joffrey. Sansa immediately sensed the smell of wine from him. Beaming happily, Sansa began dancing with him when she felt his iron grip on her, his lips curling into a smile. Sansa felt his fingers pinch her skin.
"I have waited for this for a long time, my dear Sansa," Joffrey sneered, suddenly making the girl uncomfortable. It sounded as if he had a possession over her. Out of courtesy, she had let the crown prince to lead. She soon regretted that, as Joffrey was holding her tight, and it hurt. His fingers began to squeeze her wrist. He was hurting her, and did not let her go when it was time to change partners.
"May I, my princeling?" Domeric interfered.
"Get lost, Bolton. I'm a prince and I can do what I want. I want to dance with her and I shall dance for the rest of the night," Joffrey snarled, increasing his grip on Sansa.
"With respect, she is my betrothed," Domeric told him, trying to remain calm, despite the concern he had for Sansa, and the anger at Joffrey radiating from him.
"Well I'm afraid, I can easily annul your betrothal," Joffrey sneered when he broke Sansa's wrist. Sansa barely broke away from the prince.
"Sansa!" Domeric almost exclaimed, pushing Joffrey aside, approaching her and grabbing her wrist, immediately inspecting it. "Idiot, you broke her wrist!" he almost yelled at the prince.
"She'll live," Joffrey scoffed, immediately offending Sansa. He hurt her and felt no remorse, not even apologising to her. She looked at him again. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time. She wondered how she could ever have though him handsome. His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel.
"You craven," Domeric growled at the prince. "You're no man to treat a lady like this."
"You're calling me a woman, while defending a gal?" Joffrey shouted, grabbing Domeric and pulling him back. Sansa gulped as she saw Domeric giving Joffrey a deadly glare.
"Touch me, or my bride, once again…"
"You dare to threaten me, a prince. I will be king and I will have you flayed!" Joffrey threatened. Only for Domeric to smirk.
"You're forgetting, princeling," he spoke. "We, the Boltons, are known for flaying, not the Baratheons, neither the Lannisters, and do you know how I will flay you?" he asked before leaning forward to Joffrey's ear, whispering. Sansa did not hear what her bridegroom said, but whatever it was, frightened Joffrey, judging by his pale look. Despite trying to no thinking about anything inappropriate, Sansa caught herself thinking that Joffrey was about to urinate in fear. She then noticed Lord Tyrion Lannister and Sandor Clegane, the Hound, approaching them.
"Finally, we found him!" Tyrion exclaimed. From what Sansa understood, the Hound was taking Joffrey back to his chambers, only to get himself distracted enough for the prince to escape. Turning to see Sansa's broken wrist, Tyrion immediately asked if she was alright.
"I'll take her to Maester Luwin," Domeric assured the imp. Nodding, Tyrion and Sandor took Joffrey away, while Sansa was led to the maester to have her wrist fixed. Sitting, Sansa looked up, to see Domeric lovingly looking at her. Sansa was grateful for Domeric, while also lamenting herself. She cursed herself for being naïve, believing in the septa's tales about gallant knights. These tales were nothing but lies. Yes, Joffrey was a prince, and was supposed to be gallant and loving. Rhaegar was a prince too, and yet, he kidnapped Sansa's aunt, Lyanna Stark, and did Gods know what to her.
If anyone truly loved her, aside from her family, it was Domeric Bolton. During the time they had together in Winterfell, Sansa saw him as a firm, no-nonsense, but caring person. Sansa decided that she lived in the world of songs and dreams of knights and princesses for far too long, it was time to live in the world of reality.
It has been a few days since Sansa thanked the Gods that the royal party finally left her home. Despite the king and his family were only a couple of days in Winterfell, the Stark children already had negative impressions of the king, the queen, and the crown prince. Now, they were somewhere on their way back to King's Landing, but she didn't care where they were, or what was going on there. What mattered now was her wedding. It was the day when she would marry Domeric.
Roose Bolton, Domeric's father, has arrived two days ago. Sansa stood in front of the mirror, full of excitement as she wore a beautiful, white winter dress, in contrast to her auburn hair. On one hand, she was sad that she would leave Winterfell tomorrow, but on the other hand, she would go and live with Domeric, who would be her husband. Her mother, Lady Catelyn, personally helped her with the dress along with Alys and Jeyne Poole. She thought that Septa Mordane would join them. However, Sansa wanted to avoid her. During these few days, both Mordane and Myrcella's septa, Eglantine, were causing trouble. Both were protesting against the wedding process.
Sansa knew that she and Domeric would be wed under the eyes of the Old Gods, at the Weirwood Tree within the Godswood. It was obvious. The two septas began bashing, stating that Sansa was a lady, and must marry by the ways of the New Gods, within a sept. Sansa was surprised that her mother stood by father's side.
"Lady Catelyn, you are a southern lady, how can you allow this blasphemy?!" Septa Mordane cried.
"Yes, I was born in the South," her mother answered. "But we're in the North now, Sansa was born here, in the North, she is a northern lady, and shall marry by the ways of the North. Now I have known you for a long time, septa, and I am grateful for what you did, but I advise you, do not ruin my daughter's wedding, or you'll face consequences."
Although shocked and offended by this response, Mordane stopped protesting.
"You look perfect." Catelyn said softly, gently grabbing her daughter's shoulders, while observing her by the mirror's reflections.
"Thank you mother."
"I'm so proud of you, Sansa," her mother continued. "I know you wouldn't marry the prince, or someone from a major house, but I'm still happy for you. Happy that you would have a husband now."
"Oh Gods, my little girl is a woman grown." Catelyn whispered, as she began to cry. They heard a knock and her father entered.
"Sansa, it is time. Are you ready?" he asked. Receiving a nod, Eddard took Sansa by her hand, just as Catelyn, Jeyne and Alys left them. Sansa beamed as her father led her down the aisle. Her mother joined her siblings along with Alys. The wedding was officiated by Roose Bolton. Of course, by the traditions of the First Men, the ritual was performed in the evening, the stars illuminating the dark sky. Sansa giggled to herself when she saw Rickon, rubbing his eyes and yawning, obviously wanting to go to sleep. Bran was standing beside Myrcella, obviously uncomfortable from being near his bride. Myrcella, meanwhile, tried to smile. Since her family left, the princess was feeling lonely, obviously missing her family. Sansa tried her best to support the golden-haired girl, but now she would soon be leaving for Dreadfort.
"Who comes before the Old Gods tonight?" Lord Roose asked.
Her father, who still stood along her, answered. "Sansa of House Stark, comes to be wed. A woman grown, trueborn and noble. She comes to beg the blessing of the Gods. Who comes to claim her?"
"Domeric of House Bolton, son of Roose Bolton, heir to Dreadfort. Who gives her?"
"Her father, Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North." Eddard answered.
"Lady Sansa, do you take this man?"
"I take this man." Sansa answered with confidence, smiling at Domeric, who was smiling back, as he removed the Stark cloak from her, replacing it with a cloak bearing the sigil of House Bolton, her new family. They made their vows in front of the Weirwood Tree, followed by being declared as husband and wife, and ending the ceremony with a kiss.
After that came the wedding feast. Despite being nervous about the bedding, Sansa was enjoying the feast. It was far more better without the king. Sansa thought of getting Bran and Myrcella dance together, but she was encouraged by her new husband to stay with him. Not to mention that Bran himself finally took the initiative to dance with the princess. Sansa also anxious of calming Rickon down as he knew that she would be leaving. Thankfully, he was sleepy and tired, so mother led him to bed. She saw her father interacting with Roose Bolton, each holding a mug. When it was time for the bedding, Domeric stood up and began carrying her himself, much to the shock of the guests. Sansa noticed her good father Roose smiling at his son with pride.
Sansa giggled as he carried her to their bedchambers, saved specially for them. Both Sansa and Domeric began to undress each other before spending their first night as husband and wife.
Bran Stark
In his fourteen years, Bran had attended two weddings. One was the wedding of his brother Robb and Alys Karstark, and now the wedding of Domeric and Sansa. He stood at the Heart Tree with Summer to his left and Myrcella to his right.
It was clear that she was feeling uneasy at the wedding. The first reason was that the Old Gods were not her religion. He heard Septa Eglantine constantly raging on that this was not a wedding at all, and that their children would be illegitimate, bastards. Septa Mordane was protesting less, but still, she wasn't happy that her best student was not marrying in the way of the Seven.
Another reason were the direwolves of the Stark children. While Septa Eglantine called them abominations, with Septa Mordane chastising Sansa and Arya that a lady does not feed dogs, despite the two ignoring the old woman, it was clear that Myrcella herself was actually scared of them. Bran assumed that Myrcella never saw a wolf before, but she knew that wolves do not reach the same size as the direwolves. The animal partners of the Stark children were massive, almost as big as a horse. She once cowered in fear when she saw Rickon riding on Shaggydog, his direwolf, with Osha the Wildling strolling beside them. At least, that's what Osha told him.
This led to the third reason, as his betrothed, Myrcella had to stand with him. The princess was anxious about the betrothal and her fiancé, while also being afraid of his direwolf, Summer. Still, she stood there at the Weirwood Tree in the Godswood, in the cold. It was evening, and the air became chillier. Aside from the Starks, the Boltons were also present, for obvious reasons. While she somehow got used to Domeric, Myrcella felt uncomfortable with that cold-blooded look of his father. She stood beside him, but tried her best not to look at him.
Then came the feast. Just like Myrcella, Bran was glad that they finally returned to the keep as they sat, getting themselves warm. Despite the tasty food and the joy roaming the Great Hall, Bran was dismayed that Sansa was leaving. It was the same feeling he had when Jon left for the Wall to take the Black. After Lord Tyrion left for Castle Black, Myrcella was truly lonely, with no friends, and Bran understood that. Thankfully, his mother Catelyn and Sansa were there to provide her company. While being a northerner, Sansa had a good taste in dresses, especially from the South. Now, she was married and would leave for Dreadfort on the next day.
Deciding to get to know her better and spend time with his betrothed, Bran approached Myrcella and asked her for a dance. Reluctantly, Myrcella nodded and Bran gently led her to the middle of the hall. The two began to dance as Bran held her waist and wrist. Circling, Myrcella admitted that Bran was quite a good dancer. He didn't even step on her feet. For the first time since arriving to Winterfell, Myrcella Baratheon smiled, which made Bran smile in return, being happy for her. She blushed when she saw Bran nervously smiling in return.
After sometime of dancing, the two decided that they had enough and returned to the high table. Sitting down, Bran noticed Myrcella suddenly shivering when they felt something furry against their legs. She almost gasped when she saw the direwolf, Summer poking its head out under the table, his large eyes observing her. It was as if Myrcella feared that the beast would leap at her like a predator on its prey. Getting an idea, Bran took her hand. Myrcella looked at Bran, while trying to keep an eye on the canine.
"It's alright, Summer won't harm you," he assured her. "It's just you are a stranger to him since he has seen you for the first time. Here, let him know you."
Before Myrcella could answer, Bran, who was holding her hand, took it and brought it straight to the direwolf's snout. Myrcella whimpered, fearing that it would bite her hand off. She felt the wolf's nuzzle touching her hand. Muzzling it, Summer sniffed her hand before surprising Myrcella as he just licked it. Opening her eyes slightly, the princess saw Summer licking her hand multiple times. From Myrcella's reaction, the licking and muzzling tickled the princess. Bran smiled while the wolf gently nuzzled her hand.
"It means he likes you," he told the girl. Myrcella smiled in return before Bran asked. "Do you want to try to give him some meat?"
Startled by that question at first, Myrcella nodded, despite being unsure. Her mother and Septa Eglantine always said that a Southern lady, especially a princess, must not feed pets. But the direwolves of the Stark children were not pets, they were their companions. Bran immediately cut a peace from his plate, placing the slice onto Myrcella's hand. Cautiously, Myrcella reached out for Summer, offering the food to him. She smiled when the direwolf gently took the meat from her hand, diving back under the table, obviously to enjoy his meal. Both Bran and Myrcella laughed at the site, obviously finding it somewhat funny.
