A reminder that I use a 13-month calendar in Westeros that consists of 28 days each. Why? Cuz of reasons.
This chapter was edited by Gladiusx.
4th day of the 8th Moon
"Good morning, Cella."
Groggily rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Myrcella yawned back a greeting. "Mornin' Rosa."
Her friend was stretching her arms over her head yet was still seated on their bed. Rosa moaned in satisfaction when her back popped, and then she grinned at her. "Ready for today?"
Myrcella blinked in confusion, for it took her drowsy mind a few heartbeats to remember, and then she almost leaped out of her bed.
Today was the wedding!
It greatly surprised her when Sansa announced Percy as her betrothed, but she did think they looked wonderful together. At first, Myrcella thought Sansa did not feel that way towards Percy, but then she figured that politically, it was a sound decision, even if the red-haired princess viewed him as a brother. Although Sansa was a princess without dowry or estate of her own, Percy brought no land or titles, for his power was more than enough.
At least, that was until she caught them fervently kissing in the gardens, completely oblivious to everything else, and it finally clicked. They were in love.
Myrcella stretched, shaking her head and focusing on the here and now.
"I'm as ready as a handmaiden could be for her lady's wedding."
Sansa would need her handmaidens to make her look pretty and help her with all her needs during the wedding. Myrcella was unsure she could do well, but thankfully, Lord Manderly's eldest granddaughter was kind enough to join them in their lessons. Unlike what Myrcella expected, Wynafryd was nice, without any disdain, derision, or arrogance. She was a bit proud, but kind. Wylla too, for that matter, but Cella could not help but think the younger Manderly maiden tried too hard to appear pleasant. It undoubtedly had to do with the conspicuous absence of their mother, who had not once made an appearance yet, as well as their imprisoned father.
Myrcella prayed they would be reunited soon.
Strangely, she did not wish to be reunited with her family - maybe Tommen and Uncle Tyrion, but certainly not Joffrey, or her mother. Some days, Myrcella almost forgot that she was, in fact, a hostage. The supposed servant duties on the ship had turned out to be very fun instead, as Percy had shown, and she couldn't be angry at the red-haired princess, for she joined in. Sansa genuinely treated her as a companion, confidant, and friend.
The two golden-haired maidens got busy preparing for the day. Bathing, rubbing scented oils in their curls, and choosing a suitable dress, Myrcella's mind wandered toward her dream.
It was far more vivid this time…almost like a vision rather than a dream. She did not recall much of it, and what she heard made little sense. What Cella remembered clearly was the Maiden saying she was growing! Oh, and the elderly man had to be Percy's father. He was…nice. He gave her a fatherly feeling that she had never felt before, not even Uncle Tyrion or Uncle Jaime gave her such a feeling.
The less said about Robert Baratheon, the better.
What was his name? Ah, "Poseidon…"
"What was that, Cella?"
"Oh, never you mind. Just a thought."
Myrcella nearly tripped on the dress she was wearing when she heard a deep chuckle. She turned around wildly but only saw Rosa's questioning look.
"In your mind, my girl."
It took everything in her power not to scream in terror at the voice in her head!
"Come now, you are the one who called upon me. Don't speak aloud. Just think what you want to say."
"I wanted a father who would pamp– no, wait! I-I mean…thinking what I want to say is hard!"
Another deep chuckle, accompanied by a female one. "Don't let him tease you too much, my dear."
"… Are you the Maiden?"
"Uhm, Cella? Are you alright?"
Myrcella jerked, even as she realized Percy's father and Sansa's patron could now talk to her in her mind!
"Yes! I'm fine." Her voice was higher than she wanted, but Rosa only giggled.
"You're so jumpy. It's as if you are the one getting married, not Sansa."
Rosa giggled, undeterred at her pout, and a reluctant chuckle rolled off her lips.
"You can't deny it's nerve-wracking. I've attended a few weddings before the Seven but was just a guest of honor. This is my first wedding as the bride's handmaiden, and part of the ceremony shall take place before the Old Gods. Have you ever attended a wedding, Rosa?"
After browsing through many options in the wardrobe, Cella finally pulled on a simple green dress. It was not the one she would wear for the wedding, but a durable one made from soft linen for her work as a handmaiden. Then, she moved out of the wardrobe; Rosa followed her to the vanity, where a polished silver mirror waited.
"I was handmaiden at my sister's wedding, but it was a small affair. She married a landless knight from House Prester. I hope she is doing alright," Rosa's eyes glazed as she stared in the mirror, brushing Cella's hair absentmindedly. "Margot was not particularly stoked about the wedding, but she was pregnant when I last wrote to her, and she seemed pretty eager to having kids of her own."
"That's nice to hear, Rosa." Something niggled in Myrcella's mind as they talked for so long. "Say, do you think we are, uhh… speaking queerly?"
"Speak what now?"
"Yes, exactly! Just like so. We're speaking… oh, by the Mother and the Maiden! We're speaking like Percy!"
Rosa's eyes widened before bursting out in laughter, and Cella joined her. Eventually, their giggles attracted the attention of one of the castle's maids, who checked in to ensure everything was alright, but Myrcella merely waved her away. Their position was a strange one: hostages, yet favored handmaidens to the princess. They were not provided servants, yet by Sansa's orders, they lived in their own quarters on the same wing as the red-haired princess.
Right opposite her rooms in fact.
Speaking of, they quickly finished their preparations before leaving their rooms to wake up Sansa. Outside the room was the same maid who checked on them.
"My ladies, breakfast will be ready within the hour. Lady Wynafryd and Lady Wylla would like to join you along with the rest of the ladies of the castle. Where would Princess Sansa want to have breakfast?"
Myrcella thought for a moment, wondering why the maid would ask them what Sansa wanted before remembering as handmaidens, they were responsible for planning and managing the bride's day. Traditionally, the bride would not meet with any men during her wedding day aside from her closest kin–her father and brothers. Considering she did not have any male members of her family here, Sansa had given the honor for Lord Manderly to give her away to Percy during the wedding.
"We shall have it in the Princess's quarters."
"Understood. The ladies Wynafryd and Wylla shall join you soon."
The maid gave a short curtsy before excusing herself. Rosa double-checked they were presentable before they moved to Sansa's quarters. Knocking gently on the door, they were surprised when the princess called for them to enter. Myrcella glanced at Rosamund who shrugged and opened the door; Sansa had the habit of sleeping in. They found her still in her sleepwear, standing by the window as she stroked Beauty's soft feathers. The moon hawk had grown in size over the past few days, nearly the size of a dog when its wings were folded. Its upper plumage was grey, yet its belly and inner wings were a light blue. It was no wonder the bird was nearly impossible to catch, with such colors, it would blend in whether it was flying or roosting.
"Cella. Rosa. Good morn. Is it time for breakfast?"
Sansa smiled at them, and Myrcella thought she looked more beautiful than normal - her long red hair was loose, reaching her waist, and her eyes were like two glittering sapphires as the first rays of the sun shone behind her. Beauty also looked at them haughtily, barely acknowledging them with a slight tilt of her feathered head.
"Good morning, Princess. I have asked for it to be brought here. Wylla, Wynafryd, and the rest should join us soon."
"Good. Attend me."
The sound of cutlery being placed on the dining table informed them that Meera Reed was also present, the older girl staring unblinkingly at them when they turned and subtly pointed to Sansa with her eyes. Cella and Rosa moved swiftly to the red-haired princess as she shrugged her dress off. Myrcella stared at the older girl's beautiful figure before blinking and grabbing her dress from the wardrobe while Rosa dealt with the discarded sleepwear.
Cella had heard plenty of comments on her mother's beauty, but she thought Sansa was far prettier… when she wasn't being mean, at least.
She had been very kind after that cold, almost vengeful attitude at the beginning, yet Myrcella still didn't know what had brought on the change.
"You're welcome, dear."
Myrcella froze for a heartbeat, turning to the windowsill to find Beauty staring at her unblinkingly. She had been hearing voices when she woke up, and she did not think it wise to mention it; Cella shook her head and continued helping Sansa dress herself. Once done, she looked at Sansa's face, and almost thought she saw a mischievous glint in her eyes as she stared at her Moon Hawk.
Soon, they were all ready for breakfast, and the Manderly girls joined them, along with a few other guests from Houses Slate, Locke, and Woolfield who had arrived late the previous night. The wedding announcement was quite sudden, and not many guests outside of White Harbor could make it. The following few hours would be very hectic, yet Myrcella couldn't deny her excitement to be part of such a grand occasion.
It's not every day a princess marries behind her family's back to a powerful sorcerous warrior.
.
.
.
Myrcella thought Sansa looked beautiful this morning. Now, as she stood beside her in the Maiden's room in the Sept of Snow, she had to revise her statement.
She looked resplendent.
Gone were the simple dresses she opted for, and now, the Princess had gone all out in dressing up for her wedding. Rosa had joked earlier that this was only possible thanks to the ludicrous dowry her mother set for her, yet she could not bring herself to feel envious.
Myrcella would not have seen anything from it, regardless.
The red-haired princess was garbed in an opulent gown of white silk with a low, square neckline edged with fine silver lace, and the sleeves were long and fitted, slashed to reveal an underlayer of soft blue satin. A bodice, intricately embroidered with delicate silver thread in wolf and trout motifs, made her already ample chest stand out even more. Myrcella wondered how the girl could walk around normally when they dwarfed even her mother's. After a subtle glance down at her own lack of curves, she decided she preferred being slender over having to carry such heavy-looking burdens.
Sansa's voluminous locks were meticulously arranged in an elegant half-up style, cascading in a loose waterfall of dark crimson down her back. Her pale brow was crowned by a silver circlet set with blue sapphires to match her cerulean eyes.
They had left New Castle in a special, heavily curtained wheelhouse for the bride, where no man was allowed to look at her until this very moment. Now, as they prepared to enter the Snowy Sept, Sansa stared in bemusement at the man who would act as her father and give her away to her betrothed.
"Are you ready, Lord Manderly?"
Wyman Manderly finally shook himself from his stupor, wiping his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief, even as his granddaughters giggled beside her. "Forgive me, Princess. You are the very vision of beauty, even more so than your mother. Calling you the North's Delight would fall short of expressing my admiration."
"Your silver tongue can put many a bard to shame, My Lord," Sansa chuckled, moving to grasp his offered meaty hand, "Shall we?"
Myrcella and Rosamund hurried to grab the tail ends of the long blue shawl she wore before Lord Manderly pushed open the double doors and entered the Sept.
Percy stood by the altar, looking dashing in a strange set of garments that attracted a lot of attention. He had a blue velvet doublet adorned with intricate silver embroidery of dolphins, sea monsters, and a single horseman holding a trident similar to his own etched on the chest. His sleeves were not slashed, as fashion dictated; rather, they were straight and ended just before the wrist, where the cuffs were held by two silver buttons. Beneath peeked a fine white linen shirt with a high, straight collar and cuffs, paired with snug black silk trousers fastened with a leather belt with a silver trident buckle. Draped over one shoulder was a long, flowing sea-green velvet cloak lined with black silk and fastened with an ornate silver brooch shaped like a horse's head.
Myrcella had learned that Percy wanted a merman as his personal sigil, but that would have caused confusion with House Manderly. Instead, he opted for a trident-wielding horseman that was etched on the cloak for all to see. The cloak that he would cover Sansa with and proclaim her under his protection as his loving wife.
Finally, on his side was the Stark ancestral sword, Ice, though Myrcella could spy his personal weapon in dagger form on his belt.
She thought Percy looked rather uneasy with so many eyes on him, yet even the unease was forgotten when he laid eyes on Sansa. In fact, the whole Sept stared with awe at the red-haired princess. Sansa slowly walked towards the altar, and all the heads turned to follow her along, completely enthralled.
Finally, Sansa arrived at the altar, where Lord Manderly commenced the ceremony.
.
.
.
The streets were in jubilation for the wedding. All around them, men, women, and children waved Stark banners and motifs while lines of Manderly and Stark guards ensured they did not block the road. Everyone was feasting on the sea monster that Percy slayed; Lord Manderly's team of cooks had finally finished butchering and preparing the beast for the entire city to enjoy.
Sansa and Percy stood on a chariot dragged by a team of horses with no driver as they waved to the crowd. To any onlooker, they would think the horses were simply well-trained, yet Myrcella knew it was all Percy. She watched from the open wheelhouse following them; Rosa sat beside her, full of excitement.
"Look! There's Meera."
Cella followed her friend's finger to find the crannogwoman blending with the crowd. Meera had taken to watching over Sansa should a daring assailant attempt to harm the Northern Princess. The only reason they found her was because she waved at them, and they were warned about her assignment.
Word of the bounty Cersei Lannister had placed on Sansa's and Percy's heads had spread in the city; Myrcella could only feel sick that her mother would so foolishly risk her safety over pride. Had it not occurred to her that she was making her even more of a target here? Thankfully, Sansa seemed to take the news of the bounty in stride, and none had dared to harm them so far, yet better to be safe than sorry.
Soon, they arrived at the Castle Stairs. Percy got off the chariot and then helped his bride down. Myrcella and Rosamund stepped out of their wheelhouse and then waited for Lord Manderly to leave his own, followed by his granddaughters. Once the rest of the retinue formed, they made their way to the Wolf's Den, for Sansa had insisted on a double ceremony.
One in front of the Seven and one in the presence of the Old Gods.
Soon, they were in the Godswood of White Harbor, and Myrcella held Rosa's hand in comfort. The Heart Tree was the largest she had ever seen, nearly twenty feet at the base, eerie in a way that made her spine crawl. Tangled roots the size of a ship's anchor angrily stabbed into the ground, and the branches had spread out like a crimson crown, poking at the nearby masonry. Even the face, those red angry lines that looked like a wound upon the white, bone-like bark, looked as if it would weep from fury.
At that moment, Myrcella was deeply grateful this ceremony would be short and without pomp.
.
.
.
Myrcella gazed around the Merman's Court. Both ceremonies had gone without a hitch, but her feet had almost gone numb from all the standing. Now, they were midway through the wedding feast, and the hall was packed. All of Lord Manderly's vassals had arrived, along with the three guests of honor; The Flints of Widow's Watch and their vassals, the Lockes of Old Castle and their vassals, and the Slates of Blackpool and their vassals. Invitations were sent to the houses neighboring White Harbor, yet Myrcella wondered if the rest of the Northern Houses would feel insulted for not being included.
That they were at war and the western half of the kingdom was suffering from marauding pirates did not matter. Myrcella was sure the lords of the Westerlands and the Crownlands would have felt slighted anyway.
She nibbled on her food, trying very hard not to drool as the succulent meat almost melted on her tongue. The sea monster, or as the Northmen called it, The Leviathan, was the main feature of the feast. It certainly tasted great, especially with the special sauce Lord Manderly's cook procured. It had a savory and salty taste that Cella felt complimented the surprisingly strong taste of the meat.
"My niece, Lyessa, would have loved to attend such a wedding, but sadly, the sickness in Widow's Watch has yet to pass, and she's pregnant as well."
The elderly mother of Ser Marlon Manderly, a Flint by birth, was telling her. Rosa beside her was talking to a Locke woman while a gaggle of Manderly vassals sat with them at the Ladies' table. Woolfields, Longs, Ambers, Ashwood… From what she read, Myrcella thought the latter two were extinct, but apparently, the names lived on.
"I pray she and her people recover and her pregnancy goes smoothly," Cella replied solemnly; the elderly Flint woman smiled gently as she cut her Leviathan steak.
"You are such a sweet child. I met your grandmother once when she was but a handmaiden when the old queen was still young. Her daughter, your mother, was quite the hellion when she came to court, always dragging her brother to one mischief or another. I dare say you are proving to be much better than her in all that matters." Myrcella was unsure if that was a compliment or not but accepted it with a graceful nod. "Still, to have two princesses in White Harbor, both from different kingdoms and also at war… Why, it must be fate! Surely, you will find a good man for yourself, Princess."
Cella felt the flush creep up her neck; not many called her princess here, though she suspected it had more to do with her position as Sansa's handmaiden. Most saw her as Sansa's lady-in-waiting, not as her hostage or Joffrey's sister.
Still, her eyes wandered to the main table, where the newlyweds fed each other cake. Percy had insisted on something called Wedding Cake which was essential for every wedding in his homeland. He had vehemently opposed the pigeon pie, looking quite disgusted when explained that live pigeons would be trapped in the crust until he cut it open.
"What if they poop in there? Or suffocate and make a mess?"
To be fair, that happened more than Myrcella cared to admit in the few weddings she attended. Regardless, the demigod joined forces with Beren, the head cook of New Castle, to make a special white and blue cake.
Looking at them now, Myrcella wondered if she would be as lucky as Sansa to find such a loving husband like Percy. Comely, tall, dashing, honorable, loyal, powerful, and above all, he didn't treat his wife-to-be as a means to an end - spawning an army of heirs and spares that could further his ambitions and expand his opportunities to forge alliances.
"Perhaps I will, but I am Princess Sansa's ward now," Myrcella replied to the Flint woman diplomatically - the rest of the table was listening in, and she had no wish to give the impression she was grasping. "I trust My Lady to find me a good husband if my stay with her lasts that long."
"Ah, yes, you are still a guest here." One of the Woolfield women, an older blonde that looked very similar to Wylla, raised her nose as she looked down at her. "Hopefully, the Princess will make sure you are safely home soon. The King would have done so if he were not busy with the war."
A cold chill seemed to fall on the table as all the chatter died off to stare at the woman. Myrcella had only met her once, for she had isolated herself in the castle's small sept, but Leona Woolfield had given the impression she was less than impressed with her or Rosa.
"Mother, Myrcella is welcome here for as long as Lord Grandfather and Princess Sansa desire." Wynafryd politely reminded, placing a hand on her mother's clenched fist. "I understand you are worried about Father, but–"
"But nothing! My poor Wylis rots in Harrenhal while we have the power to free him and many other Northmen. Even your brother Donnel is held there, Myriame." The Locke woman talking to Rosa lowered her head while the other ladies whispered around the table. Lady Manderly seemed to feel emboldened as she continued. "Princess Sansa refuses to even entertain the idea of a prisoner exchange or even inform her kingly brother of her betrothal to a sorcerer we know nothing about, not until she was wedded and bedded. I even heard rumors of her joining the men in the war against the brigands and the Ironborn. Will she drag our guests with her as well? For how long will my Wylis be cursed to suffer imprisonment by honorless curs?"
Some ladies looked at Myrcella accusingly, others with pity. Most, however, seemed expectant, as if looking forward to a fight. Even Wylla, who had been nice to her so far, looked torn between helping her and supporting her mother.
It seemed Sansa was not as popular here as she thought.
Myrcella would not claim she was the best at reading people. In the Red Keep, she was sequestered most of the time away from court, busy with her gardens, and rarely interacted with anyone. Her mother had not allowed her to befriend those of lesser stock, either. Of course, she had not been talking about servants but the noble daughters of knights, lords, and other courtiers in the royal court.
It was as if Cersei believed anyone not a Lannister was lesser, thus unworthy of even talking to.
Yet, her voyage through the Narrow Sea and the chores Sansa made her do had taught her to pay attention to her surroundings. Granted, the danger was limited to cooking oil or gutting a fish wrong, but the lesson still stuck with her: Inspect your surroundings, look for allies, and prepare appropriately. For right now, she was in the midst of a battle!
Steeling herself, Myrcella slowly gazed around the table, staring at every woman in the eyes before settling on Leona Wollfield, and she tilted her head.
"When I was taken captive, I feared that I would be mistreated, for I have seen firsthand how Joffrey treated Sansa. The Princess had every right to treat me the same way, yet it quickly became clear that the daughter of the late Lord Stark was raised differently. She was strict yet fair. Stern yet courteous. She had a sharp and ruthless mind tempered by a compassionate heart."
Myrcella smiled then, feeling as if a warm hand was rubbing her shoulders even though no one was behind her.
"I will not confess to knowing what goes in the Princess' mind, but so far, I believe she has done wonders with what she got. Sansa escaped King's Landing and my vile brother's clutches, recruited a powerful sorcerer to her side and safely returned to the North." She took a sip of watered-down ale to wet her lips before smiling sweetly at the Lady of New Castle. "Lady Manderly, I can sympathize with your woes and fears, yet please remember that I am a guest of Sansa Stark of Winterfell, Princess of the North, not yourself."
The woman pursed her lips at the slight rebuke but gave a slight, begrudgingly nod, realizing the insolence of her claim.
However, Myrcella hurried to continue, to strike while the iron was hot.
"You are not the only one who has loved ones in captivity. I heard Lord Stark, Eddard Stark, mention how war was terrible and made monsters out of us." Myrcella would not claim to have interacted a lot with the Wolf Lord, yet he always had valuable nuggets of wisdom in the few times she heard him speak. "Men can go fight and die, but it's the women who would have to endure and keep their homes safe."
The ladies at the table nodded along, and she wanted to believe it was due to her words and not just platitudes for her age and position. They seemed to greatly appreciate her mention of Eddard Stark and capitalized on that. "But what does a little girl like me know of honor and duty? I am too young to understand some things, but I know this. You Northmen have followed House Stark for millennia and have yet to be disappointed. I know your words come from a place of grief, but surely you must have trust in your liege? If not in King Robb or Princess Sansa, then in the late Eddard Stark, who was the one to raise them."
The table had gone silent, too silent, and Myrcella realized that the surrounding clamor had all died out as even the neighboring tables intently listened to her heartfelt speech.
Heat rushed to her face, and Myrcella wanted to disappear from all the gazes set on her.
"Well said!" Lord Manderly's voice boomed from the head table, and Cella gawked; even Sansa and Percy must have heard her! Sansa was smiling brilliantly at her, while Percy gave her that lopsided grin of his. "I know many of you worry about the war and the issues plaguing our lands. Yet with a Stark at the helm, there is no need to fear."
"HEAR, HEAR!"
"STARK! STARK!"
The cheer was almost deafening, mugs clanging on tables and men roaring the Stark name with zeal.
It was at this moment that Myrcella realized something. It was not the old or the new gods that were worshiped by the Northmen, but House Stark. She had never seen men so fanatical, even in the Great Sept of Baelor. Glancing around her table, Cella found Lady Manderly still looking miffed, yet there was a sliver of respect in her heavy gaze.
"IT'S TIME FOR THE BEDDING!"
She was unsure who started the roar, but it did not matter, for within a few heartbeats, the men and women of the court rushed towards the head table, leering at the newlyweds.
The tradition was not particularly pleasant, yet even Myrcella stood up to join; she would not deny looking forward to stripping the groom of his extravagant clothing.
But it seemed Percy didn't care much for the tradition.
"Yeah, nobody is laying a hand on my wife!" He swiftly picked up his bride and dashed through the crowd, jumping on tables and weaving between the guests like a slippery eel. All the while, he cackled as men and women groaned in disappointment.
Later that night, Myrcella and Rosamund returned to their quarters, tired and ready to sleep. Only to blush madly at the impassioned sounds coming from Sansa's rooms. They hurried to their rooms and changed to their sleepwear, before going to bed, yet it hardly helped.
Rosa, that traitor, had somehow procured some kind of ear plugs and buried her head under the pillows, instantly asleep. She could have lent her some, as the pillows did not help her.
Cella regretted having her rooms across Sansa's, for it took a long time for the newlyweds to finish and then allow her to sleep. Morning greeted her with the sound of coupling again; the rhythmic slapping of flesh against flesh continued on to noon, even if Sansa's cries of pleasure were replaced by incomprehensible moans.
A*H*M
12th day of the 8th Moon
Dragonstone
The Crown Princess of the Narrow Sea.
"Thank you for the offer, Princess, but if I am to be killed in some heathen ritual, then so be it. It is the will of the Seven, and I know they always have a plan."
Shireen gazed at Lord Sunglass, who had refused the extra food she brought and requested it be given to the late Lord Rambton's sons. Yet in the cell to the right, the Septon gorged on the meal she brought like it was the last thing he would ever eat. Well, it was quite possibly the last thing he would ever taste…
The Rambton sons, Dontos and Eustace, ate more sedately, yet they were still hungry after moons of imprisonment with little food. Shireen had convinced the gaoler to let her meet the prisoners and bring one final piece of meat and a cup of wine in addition to whatever slop the prisoners were fed.
It was kindness, but one her granduncle Axell seemed hell-bent on denying.
Many of the castle's residents had subtly supported her in any endeavor she aimed for. Her mother was the Lady of Dragonstone, yet her erratic nature and adoption of a heathen faith had turned many against her. None dared to rebel, of course, for her Lord Father endorsed the Red God, and thus any who had complaints kept them in their hearts lest they suffer the same fate as Lord Sunglass and the rest.
At least, that was the case until word arrived of her father's return to the Seven.
The stories were mind-boggling. A riveting tale of an epic duel beneath the mighty walls of Storm's End. Yet the victory was already known, for the Baratheon Seat had surrendered. No, the fantastic part was when the Warrior himself blessed her father with a blade of lightning. It would have been easy to dismiss this as hearsay, for the words of peasants were hardly reliable, but Shireen had heard many similar tales of sorcery from all over the realm. Some came from Dorne, others from the Westerlands, the North, the Vale, or even Crackclaw Point, but they had a single thing in common.
They were all fantastical, like something straight out of the legendary Age of Heroes.
Word had come of Myrcella Bara–Waters' capture by Sansa Stark and her sorcerer friend, now husband. Not to mention the sighting of massive sea serpents and other creatures from the deep, but most importantly, the dragon eggs.
Her dreams had gotten worse and more plentiful as of late. In her dreams, or well, nightmares, the skies turned blood-red, and the world sank into chaos and destruction. She dreamt of hordes of misshapen monsters that looked as if they had crawled straight out of the Seventh Hell, battling against dragons, fiends, and even giants. Unholy abominations rising to slay the living, small green leaf-clad beings, and ethereal beings hewn of frost with eyes like cold blue stars.
A young, dashing warrior with a rugged face and dark hair stood against the rising tide, a sword of flame in his fist. Clad in bright armor, he rode on a winged stallion of ice, slaying a myriad of fiends and demons.
Of all the things Shireen dreamt of, he was the most vivid and the one she actually looked forward to seeing again.
Regardless, since losing the favor of the King, Melisandre of Asshai, who had arrived a sennight ago, could only lean on the influence she had gained with her mother, Selyse, and the few men who still swore to the foreign god. Many in the castle now eagerly helped Shireen with whatever she needed. It was through some of the scullery maids that she learned of what they planned. The Red Witch had been enamored with the dragon eggs, claiming Azor Ahai would need them for the battles to come, and that the Lord of Light would wake them through the flames of disbelievers.
It did not take long for Shireen to understand she meant their prisoners. None had disbelieved R'hllor more than Lord Guncer Sunglass and the Septon. Thus, she was here, trying to convince the Lord of Sweetport Sound to escape.
"They would know it was you who freed us, Princess, and I would not dare bring upon you such scrutiny." The kindly lord had stated, Shireen felt endeared that he still called her princess - despite everything, he was loyal to her father. "Your mother's mind is ill and has been subverted by that wretched witch. I would not put it past her to do something truly dreadful should you aid us to flee."
Shireen left the dungeons feeling more despondent than when she entered. Her mood only grew more sullen by dinner, and she had to hurry to the Great Hall before her absence was noted. Thankfully, Steward Hugh had assured her that dinner would be slightly delayed in its call, which allowed her to easily slip in before the rest of the nobles arrived.
Her mother insisted on making dinner a grandiose affair every evening, allowing Melisandre a seat of honor and a chance to bewitch the nobles into following the Red God. None gave her more than lip service, as if she was a nuisance that had to be endured before a meal was served.
This time, however, there seemed to be a commotion among the noblemen. For a heartbeat, Shireen worried her mother had learned of her visits to the dungeon or her less-than-loyal intentions, but no - it appeared word had arrived from the mainland.
"The entire fleet had sailed past us a sennight ago. By now, the King should be halfway to King's Landing to put it under siege."
"Word is, the Stormlands army has taken the Wendwater and has secured the Rose Road. They would then attack from the south but–"
"…The King had ordered that the Golden Bridge be blocked to deny a potential Lannister or Tyrell crossing of the Blackwater Rush."
"It won't be long now until the city falls. They put the bloody Imp in charge of the defenses if you believe the rumors. What does a dwarf even know of war?"
"Quite, it seems, for he had already chased away half the population of the city! The Crownlands is teaming with vagrants and poor folk, all of them claiming the imp has gone madder than a hat with his army of savages."
"Did you hear? The Kingslayer has escaped from Riverrun. Rumor is everything south of the Red Fork is swarming with outriders searching for him but to no avail."
Whoever said that only noble ladies gossiped was mistaken. Men loved to gossip as well, especially when the matter involved fighting. There were plenty of embellishments, boasts, and derision mixed in, but once she managed to look past them, Shireen was kept abreast with matters of the war.
Shireen was on the ramparts when she saw parts of the fleet sailing past them a few days ago. She was saddened that her father had not taken the time to visit the castle, to visit her - instead, the lone ship that came to port contained the Red Witch.
Soon, the rest of the hall filled up; Selyse entered from a side door and bid Melisandre sit on the Lord's chair. Shireen bit her cheek at the insolence; that was her father's seat!
Many murmurs of disgruntlement could be heard, and Shireen could no longer stand for this. She was about to march to the throne, but Melisandre declined the offer and went to her usual seat. It appeared the Red Witch was smarter than Shireen thought, or perhaps it was all a mummer's play to gauge the reaction of the courtiers.
Regardless, whatever commotion was about to erupt was instantly doused. A couple of men brought the chest with two dragon eggs forth and placed it on a table for all to marvel at. Shireen could feel her heartbeat quicken rapidly as she gazed at the gem-like objects. Her mother had vehemently refused to have her inspect them closely, especially when the Red Witch arrived, and Shireen was not even allowed to sit on the same table as the dragon eggs.
Even Maester Pylos was forbidden from informing her royal father about the existence of the eggs. "The King is preoccupied with the war, and there is no need to trouble his mind with such trifles." One would almost believe her if not for the claims of the dragon eggs being a gift from R'hllor. Melisandre certainly seemed to believe so, and the way her eerie eyes sometimes fell upon poor Patchface made Shireen frown.
She knew the woman did not like her Fool, but her distaste for him had increased since her arrival.
His singing of doom, sea fighting sky, lightning clashing with fire, and painful moans had increased even more. So much so that her mother refused to have him in the hall anymore. Even now, he was isolated in his small room, though Shireen did manage to convince a couple of maids to tend to him until he got better.
Shireen only hoped Patchface would get better soon. She prayed that her father would win the war swiftly and return. Only then would things be better.
Hopefully, he would kick out Melisandre for good, and maybe her mother would be better as well!
Poor Shireen, she just can't catch a break.
Percy was wearing a tuxedo, or at least what he hoped to make of a tuxedo. It… didn't come out as good, but since he was a powerful dude who just married an important lass, who knows how that fashion statement would cause?
With this, we are done with the White Harbor mini-arc…for now.
If you would like to read four chapters ahead, or simply support me, look me up on Patr(eo)n under the same pen name.