Chapter 1

The Golden Tumor


Over three weeks after her awakening, Myrcella lazed around without purpose. She read books, ate delicacies, and tended to gardens. She carried out the monotonous schedule of Princess Myrcella before turning four. She couldn't find why fate had merged the soul of a Princess and a great wise King of Uruk. She spent time meditating, attempting to accelerate her growth or find meaning, but she had not seen a conclusion.

Today though, Myrcella found herself punishing her elder brother. Her little fists assailed her brother Joffery with the fury of a lion and a temperament of calm waters. She raised her hand and laid down her judgment with each stroke.

"S-Stop!" Joffery screamed, his blood staining his teeth.

She paused and looked down upon him with cold eyes. "How many times did you cut it?" she asked as she pulled out a handkerchief. She then wiped the blood off her fists with slow and methodical movements.

"W-What?"

"I see it isn't enough," she sighed, pocketed her cloth, and raised her fist again. She then slammed her fist upon her brother's detestable face again, resuming her clobbering.

Eventually, Joffery's screams died as numb unconsciousness overtook him. His emerald green eyes rolled the back of his head before closing.

Taking no pleasure in continuing her violence, Myrcella stopped her beat down. Standing up, she stood over him with a judgmental stare. "Beaten by your younger sister," she laughed as she wiped her hands clean of the blood and sweat. "What a pathetic ruler you will be."

With her ire sated and sufficient punishment served, she turned her attention to the source of the violence. She stepped over her unconscious brother and reached for an ugly hunk of meat. The mutilated corpse once harbored life and, admittedly, her affection.

She looked upon the corpse for one more moment before picking it up and staining her hands. The very least she could do for it was to allow it and its unborn children safe passage through the Underworld.

After all, she is a king who looks after her subjects.

It was then that Joffery's and her escorts entered the room, having finally broken the lock and the barricade. Their eyes immediately drew themselves to the prince and then to her. Joffery's appointed sworn shield, Sandor Clegane the Hound, immediately strutted towards his liege.

"You did this, girl?" the Hound asked as he inspected Joffery's wounds.

"I appreciate your understanding in allowing me and my brother to talk alone, mongrel," she dismissively said as she handed the animal's corpse to one of her servants. The servant's face fell at being given such a messy thing but held it nevertheless. "Treat it carefully; we shall bury it in the Kingswood."

She then passed her Kingsguard, Arys Oakheart, and her servants, who all followed, leaving the Hound and the Hound's master behind. "One of you get that old lecher to treat his wounds," she said, not breaking her stride.


She had a stable boy, a hardy and money-grubbing peasant, dig the grave for her. She, her servant, and Arys Oakheart watched as the boy shoveled the earth.

While the stable boy dug, she sat upon a cushion courtesy of one of the servants. The air was pleasant, with the ocean breeze washing through the great trees. She had enough sunlight to see without being blinded or burnt by the glorified candle. How can she not take the time to relax?

She busied herself by reading "Glory of Volantis," a chronicle from a place far removed from King's Landing. She had picked it up yesterday and finished a fraction of what it depicted.

Eventually, her peace was disturbed when she heard someone running. The constant breaking of branches echoed in the forest. The clanking of segmented armor similarly reverberated in the woods of the King. She and Arys Oakheart looked to their left to see who was approaching.

It was a Lannister soldier clad in red armor emboiled with the golden lion. "My Princess! Queen Cersei calls for your presence," he relayed the message.

She ignored the lackey and instead continued to indulge in her reading. After all, as she was an existence above all, why should she heed the commands of anyone?

The Lannister soldier remained speechless for a moment before repeating his words: "The Queen commands that-"

"I will take your tongue if you continue to speak," she growled as she glared at the man before returning her gaze to her book. "Leave," she commanded.

The man promptly bowed before hastily departing.

Arys Oakheart looked upon the fleeing soldier before turning his gaze upon her. "Princess Myrcella, is it wise to ignore the summons of the Queen?" he inquired curiously. While he was a simple guard to her currently, he is a Kingsguard, one of the best knights in Westeros. Not even royalty could easily dismiss his words.

But she dismissed it anyways. "I will continue to stay here until after the burial," she said as she flipped a page. Why should she worry about the wrath of anyone without wisdom or strength?

A few minutes passed before the grave was deep enough. It was a tiny grave, but it was big enough to house a pregnant animal. As the stable boy clambered out of the hole, he extended his hand for pay.

Glancing at him, she ignored his gesture and motioned for the servant carrying the body to input it into the hole. "May you have safe travels," she said as she looked down at the corpse.

It used to be a cat, pregnant with a brood of would-have-been kittens. It had provided Myrcella with some company the past two weeks when she was reading books, meditating, and lounging around. She had grown somewhat affectionate for her pet.

So when she encountered Joffery cutting it up, she felt insulted. It was her's, and he had no right to touch it, let alone murder it. Now with it soon to be buried and put to rest, she turned around.

She tossed a dragon to the stable boy with care as she said, "Bury it." With that business taken care of, she began to make her way back to the Red Keep.

Only to pause at the sight of an entourage of men through the forest. Their weapons gleamed in the forested light, showing that it was sharpened and shined. "Why in the bloody hell are you out here, girl?" her father's voice boomed.

There was also a band of two men following after, a relatively small hunting party overall.

"I am just burying my pet," she dismissively replied as she continued her path.

"You had a pet?" Robert curiously asked as he drew closer. His spear gleamed in his hand as he rested it upon his broad shoulder. He stood before her, towering over her meager three-foot-six height."What happened to it?"

She eyed him before giving a dismissive huff. "Not your concern," she said.

Her father eyed her with a raised eyebrow. "Is that how you speak to your father?" he asked in a gravely low tone.

She looked at him and said, "I will speak to you however I feel. If you don't like it, then step aside."

As Robert remained silent to her words, a tense stare-down began to brew between them. Both Kingsguard tensed in preparation to hold back their liege lord from harming the daughter. All servants prepared to flee or assist the bodyguards.

Then Robert laughed an amused thunderous laugh. "My, you have changed in the past three weeks, girl! Did passing out in a plate of your blood grow you some balls?!" he boisterously asked with a big smile.

Myrcella frowned silently at the blatant mockery of the circumstances of her enlightenment. Her nose wrinkled a bit, too, as she smelled the stench of her father's drunken breath.

"Where's your spunk, girl?" her father asked. "Thought you grew a pair bigger than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms."

She decided that she would no longer humor her oaf as a father. After all, why should she bother with the whimperings of a fat dog? With that in mind, she wordlessly moved past him and towards the Red Keep.

"I am still talking to you, girl," Robert sternly said as he reached for her hand.

But with a flourish, she evaded the grip and glared at her father. If he wanted her attention, then his insolence earned her ire. "Touch me again, and I will skewer you," she growled as she summoned a nameless sword in her grasp. She then put the tip against her father's gut.

Immediately, Barristan Selmy drew his blade while Arys Oakheart looked confused at the turn of events. Though eventually, her bodyguard drew his sword against her.

Robert similarly looked stumped before his eyes glared at her. "Put down your sword, girl," he demanded with a low voice. Simultaneously, Barristan drew closer.

Myrcella studied her father, eyeing his reaction and gauged it. If she were to stab him, would the man conjure enough strength to beat her down before the guards subdued her? She paused as she looked into his eyes and saw the fire within them.

He was a warrior king, a ruler who ruled by sheer force of will and fear. He would be an unshakable pillar for a kingdom to stand upon, unwavering in both faith and determination. Yet, he was not.

Peace had made him a drunken oaf, indulgent for all his desires.

"You're a terrible father," she said as she poked her sword deeper, only for it to bounce right off the fat. It was a deceptive weapon, appearing sharp but was a glorified club meant to deceive armored men. Then with a slightly amused expression, she watched the men's faces morph into confusion and realization. "Annoying me so that I can demonstrate my so-called spunk," she chuckled as she lowered the club.

An eerie silence permeated the forest before the sound of the two Kingsguards sheathing their blades echoed. After another moment, a boisterous laugh erupted from Robert. His voice, perhaps even reaching the Red Keep in sheer volume. "How bloody big are your balls, girl?!" he loudly asked.

"I will skewer you if you allude to me having balls again," she warned, only to find her head assailed by a bit of hand ruffling her hair.

"With how awful your hair is today, you must have turned into a boy!"

That man was lucky she had only enough mana to return her weapon, or lest she make him into pig roast. With harsh punishment unable to be distributed, she pressed the club deeper into his gut, eliciting even more laughs from the bipedal boar as it bounced off.

She would enjoy recovering her full abilities and burning this sorry kingdom and its royal family. Well, besides herself and her little brother Tommen of course.

-

In the end, she joined in with Robert's little hunt. Arys carried her upon his armored shoulders as punishment for turning his blade upon her, much to the man's chagrin. Any complaints from him, though, were silenced when Robert gave his prompt approval, clearly amused at the idea, and a slight whack on the helm by her club.

She had thought she had established herself as someone not to be refused, but it would seem they still all viewed her as a rowdy little girl. Fortunately for them, she was feeling merciful – as well as drained of power.

Anyhow, their party of now six people made their way through Kingswood in search of a wild boar. Robert, merry in his buzzed daze, had also helpfully supplied that there was also a sighting of a White Hart by a group of guards. A mythical white stag of great importance that was greater than even the dragons, he had said. He said that they were indeed going to see one today.

The slight glance and bemused expression of Barristan, however, illuminated a different truth. Perhaps the oaf of a father was trying to entertain her with hopes of fairy tales?

Sadly for him, such frivolous myths were not one of her interests.

"Is the subject of your hunt also the White Hart?" she curiously inquired as she grew interested in the mythical creature. Perhaps the blood of such a beast may help accelerate her body's growth, allowing her to burn down the kingdom much sooner.

"If we see one, I will personally gut it open!" Robert boasted as he waved his spear around dangerously.

Idly, she used her club to bat away a stray strike on her face. "The party is painfully tiny for hunting such a creature," she said.

Indeed, a typical royal hunting party would consist of at least a dozen lords with their entourage to boost the numbers. Workers would have set up tents to shelter the party and provide a workplace for servants to prepare the kills. As there was the possibility of hunting a fabled White Hart, the number of lords in attendance would have been at least doubled or tripled.

Yet, here they were with only a half dozen men and two servants to accompany them.

"They would have slowed us down!" the now thoroughly intoxicated king grumbled and burped as he finished his wineskin. "Oi, give me more," he demanded as he glared at his servant.

Said servant, a Stormlander young man, bowed slightly, then said, "I will fetch more, my king."

Barely a second went by before Robert's drunken glare turned feral. "Well?! Hurry the fuck up before I gut you like a pig!" the oaf roared with a booming voice. Immediately, it had the desired effect as the servant ran back to the Red Keep to fetch more wine.

Myrcella watched as the servant scampered away before gazing at her ride. "Stop posturing, dog," she growled as she slapped Arys on his straight, combed head. Her weight shifted slightly to the back due to a sudden straightening of her ride's back.

"That is no way to treat a knight, Princess, much less a Kingsguard," Barristan chided with deep dissatisfaction. It would seem that he did not like the order of the Kingsguard to be humiliated by a mere princess.

Judging by the hum of agreement and annoyance from Arys, it would seem he, too, agreed. For that, she whacked him again.

Why should she worry about their protests when they could not act upon them? Besides, to train a dog properly, one must distribute punishment equally to rewards.

"Oi, you lot shut the fuck up," Robert growled as he held up his arm, beckoning the party to stop. "It's right there!" His finger pointed in the distance as he gripped his spear in preparation.

All Myrcella saw was a big stone; even her brief scan with Sha Naqba Imuru confirmed nothing unusual about the stone. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she stared at it and then at the drunk. Was he already too deeply drunk to distinguish reality from hallucinations?

Regardless of what she or anyone else in the party thought, the intoxicated man ran recklessly toward it. If it were a boar, it would have equaled his challenge with its gleaming weapons. Yet, as it was stone, it stood still.

Robert roared as he rammed his spear into the rock, immediately breaking the shaft. Surprisingly, the tip burrowed deeply inside the unmoved stone and destroyed its integrity.

"Haha!" he laughed as he marveled at his work. Then as it was familiar with those heavily intoxicated, he swayed a bit before falling face-first into the ground with an audible thud.


Ultimately, Barristan canceled the hunting party and took the drunken back to the Red Keep. Seeing that nothing else but the wilderness would entertain her, Myrcella, too, returned to the keep with one less Kingsguard escorting her.

As she entered the Red Keep proper to find something else to do, her Mother, Cersei, confronted her. In the woman's embrace was the newest addition to the family, Tommen. A bundle of joy, the baby was barely one as it wiggled and yawned in the grasp.

"Why did you hit Joffery?" the queen asked as she continued to cuddle Tommen.

"He killed my cat," Myrcella stated plainly and simply with a dismissive wave. "Before you ask if I care that his injuries will last a month, I do not care."

"Grand Maester Pycelle said it would last two," Cersei elaborated with an annoyed look.

"And?"

"Is that how you speak to your mother?"

"I am King," Myrcella said as she waved dismissively at her mother's statement.

"You're a princess, Myrcella. Joffery will be the one to be king."

"Throughout heaven and earth, I alone am the honored one."

"Go to your room, young lady."

"No."

"Then I will have the servants deny you wine and sweets."

"You will not do such a thing. You have no right to lord over me."

By this point, Cersei sighed deeply before pointing her finger accusingly at Myrcella. "You ungrateful little shit. If you are going to be like that, then get the fuck back into my womb so I can have another go at getting a polite daughter."

"Is that how you speak to your daughter?"

"And? What right do you have to use your status as my daughter when you speak with rude words?"

"I am King."

"I am your mother."

"I am King."

"I am your mother."

"I am-"

Chapter 1 End


I am so done with this chapter, also fuck you, too, Grammarly. I can write passively as much as I want.

Note: It took me two dozen drafts to finally come to this one, and I want to sleep. One had Myrcella killing everyone in the first paragraph, and another one had her carving a new kingdom in Essos at the age of five.