300 AC
THE RIVERLANDS
RIVERRUN
MYRCELLA BARATHEON
It had been months, since she was captured by the Stark forces.
Before the war started, she had lived a comfortable if not a sheltered life. Her mother was too overprotective to let her join in any of the southern politics. It hadn't mattered to her, she was too young to understand the complicated politics of the court anyway.
But that didn't mean, she hadn't had any work to do, just because she was the princess of the Seven Kingdoms, of course not. Being the grand-daughter of Tywin Lannister means perfection.
And perfect she was. She excelled in everything, from her needlework to her studies under Grand Maester Pycelle.
She was also good at making friends. Befrending many of the young highborn ladies of the court. Her most recent friend was Lady Sansa, whom she befriended in Winterfell, when her father asked Lord Eddard to became his Hand Of The King.
Thinking of Winterfell, always filled her with a feeling of sadness and longing. She remembered being nervous, when she heard about going to The North. Her mother always ranted how the North is a frozen Wasteland filled with wildlings and that the Starks are nothing more than savages.
It always filled with her with fear, which only increased after they crossed the huge fortress of Moat Cailin.
But her fear were unfounded when she saw the North for the first time. While most of the North was barren, it has some sort of harsh beauty to it. And they men of the North we're warm-hearted more so than the men of the South. They were straightforward and had a loathing for southern politics. Something Myrcella was grateful for, after spending a lifetime in court.
Then they arrived at Wintercity and Winterfell. It was the single most magnificent place she had ever seen. Winterfell alone is bigger than the Red Keep and half of King's Landing. And the beauty of Wintercity cannot be described in words.
Even though the City had a population of 100,000 people. It was clean and stench free, unlike the streets of Kings Landing. And the residents of the city were well all behaved, welcoming their King and his routine as they, marched through the heart of The North.
Then she met him. Robb Stark, tall, broad and Handsome, who grinned down at her, pressing a kiss to her knuckle, as he welcomed her to his home.
Myrcella had realised that it was the first time, that she had been stumped into silence, doing nothing but starting at the Stark heir with a blush on her face. She was stunned so much, that her mother had to literally drag her out of the courtyard.
The days she spent at Winterfell we're some of the best days of her life. Robb was courteous, giving her tour of Winterfell, showing her the Glass Gardens, the immense Library, and the Hot springs of the Godswood. And like a lovesick puppy she stuck to him always accompanying him wherever she went.
She remembered, that her father had planned planned to betroth her to Robb, to join House Baratheon and Stark through marriage.
It had filled her with excitement and happiness, as she dreamt of marrying Robb in the Godswood, of giving him healthy sons and daughters, and both of them ruling Winterfell and The North, side by side.
But her good dreams were promptly shattered by her mother, who raged and screamed at father, accusing him of selling her daughter like a livestock, never asking her if she wants the marriage or not.
At the end her father relented to her mother's wishes, instead arranging a betrothal between Lady Sansa and her cruel brother Joffrey.
She remembered that she was heartbroken, and hadn't talked with her mother from the entire journey from the North to the Capital. Her mother tried to persuade her saying, that Robb Stark isn't worthy of her tears, but to no avail.
Then everything started to get worse as just after a month of returning to the Capital, her world started falling before her eyes. Her father died during a hunting trip, Lord Eddard was arrested for treason and then unjustly executed, her Uncles Stannis and Renly declaring them bastards born of incest and declaring war on them.
It was chaos. She remembered that sweet Lady Sansa was forced to watch her father's execution, then tormented publically everytime Robb wins a battle.
And Robb, gods she remembered how she had cried clutching the doll, which he had gifted to her, everytime she thinks about him.
She was torn between two sides. One side prays for victory for her family while her other side can't help but pray for the boy she had fallen in love with.
She remembered that she had been terrified when she learned that her Grandfather and Uncle Tyrion had arranged a betrothal between between her and Prince Trysten of Dorne, to forge an alliance with House Martell. She had feared that if she goes to Dorne, she will never see Robb again.
But her mother, to her relief, prevented that and instead sent her to Casterly Rock for safe keeping.
Instead she wasn't safe.
When she reached Casterly Rock she heard about the Battle Of Oxcross, also known as the Massacre Of Oxcross, about the fall of Golden Tooth, about her great-uncle Stafford's death, at Robb's hand no less, and about the Northern invasion of The Westerlands.
Within the first two weeks of the invasion, most of the Westerlands had fallen to the Northmen. The refugees fleeing to Lannisport brought news of massacres and atrocities committed by the Northmen.
She was terrified at what might happen to her if Casterly Rock fell, despite uncle Daven's assurance that it will not.
And she was right. It did fell.
During the attack she had shamelessly tried to hide herself from the invaders, fearing for her life, remembering Joffrey's treatment towards Sansa. She was afraid that she will be subjected to the same treatment or worse.
But she was captured and was dragged before their king. On the way she had saw Uncle Devan's headless corpse, which was later tied to a horse and was paraded through the streets of Lannisport, striking fear to the populace of the city.
And then she saw Robb for the first time since her visit to Winterfell, and as she watched she realised there was nothing to the young boy she saw at Winterfell. The Robb Stark she'd remembered had been a hulking youth to be sure, but he had been a bit like a new fawn. She remembered him practicing in the tiltyard with his brother, the broody one with dark brown curls, the way they both always seemed surprise when they made contact with the other. He had been quick to laugh, she remembered, though admittedly less so as her family's visit went on.
There was nothing delicate in the Northern King now though, standing over six feet tall he was battle hardened, and had a strong Soldier's body.
He had watched her with cold blue eyes, giving no sign that he remembered her. She had felt hurt at that and was shaking like leaf in front of him. She had managed to control her emotion just enough to do a clumsy courtesy, welcoming him inside.
But her worries were put to rest, when he had smiled and apologised to her for the rough treatment. It had shocked her, him a powerful king apologising to his hostage.
She was not the only one shocked though. His soldiers were equally stunned, when Robb scolded them for handling her so roughly.
She was further shocked when Robb had asked her to sit with him at the high table during his name day feast celebration at Casterly Rock.
During the feast Robb had assured her, that she will stay at Riverrun as a guest for the rest of the war. It had filled Myrcella with relief knowing she didnt have to stay at a war camp for long.
After arriving at Riverrun, she had spent most of her days in her room, reading and sometimes sewing. Robb had been kind enough to let her borrow any books she wanted from the library, under Maester Vyman's, the maester of Riverrun, guidance and supervision. On her first morning in Riverrun, the King in the North came to her solar to make sure she was comfortable enough as his guest of honor. It was then he realized that she didn't have much to spend her time with, and made the gesture to open up the library for her. At first she was wary, but then she grew to appreciate his effort.
Before their awkward supper with Sansa and Lady Catelyn, Robb has already used to invite her to dine with him on several occasions. They'd eat their food in silence, the sound that was heard was the clatter of their cutlery or the sound of his direwolf chewing bones under the table. He seemed lost in his own mind, sometimes out of blue he'd ask about his late father or the household guards that were slain in King's Landing.
She knew he invited her to eat with him because he wanted to hear about his father's fate, without other company to eavesdrop.
When she told him that sometimes she envied him for having a father that was so open minded he allowed his daughter to lift a sword (even a wooden one), Robb's face shone with pride. They quickly changed to a stern and angry one if she told him about Sansa. Among the Stark girls she spent more time with Sansa Stark, for their love of needle work.
The day Robb Stark and his army marched out through the Riverrun gate was a cloudy day, the wind blew hard and rain drizzled down since dawn.He hadn't told her where he was going. But according to all the talks that were circulating around Riverrun, they had gone to attack The Reach. It was logical, as the Tyrells we're supporting Joffrey.
He left her with three Stark household guards who looked at her like she was some annoying dirt on their boots, but she paid no mind to them. As day after day progressed, she dined alone in her solar, finding that she missed Robb's presence. He was the only person, alongside Sansa, in the huge castle that ever spoke to her, aside from maester Vyman.
A month after Robb left, she had thought to ask the maester about his whereabouts, but ultimately decided against it, knowing he wouldn't get an answer.
So instead she read and she sewed-until one afternoon she looked up to her window and saw a vast rider galloping towards the castle bearing Tully sigils. She knocked on her solar's door and one of the guards opened it from outside, looking irritated.
"I saw riders coming through," she said.
"Aye, the Blackfish had arrived from Maidenpool."
Now she remembered, that a week ago, the Blackfish had gathered all the Riverlands soldiers and left. They were all looking grim and hurried.
At first she had thought that her grandfather is again attacking the Riverlands. It could be possible, with Robb taking most of the troops with him, it had left the Riverlands vulnerable to any attack.
Then after pestering Maester Vyman, she found out that her guess was true. An army had been indeed dispatched from King's Landing and the scouts had last spotted them at Duskendale.
But now that they have arrived that means it was only a light incursion and not a full fledged invasion.
"I'd like to go to meet them."
"What for?"
"I am not a prisoner, am I?" she asked, and her guard grumbled.
They followed her to the great hall where almost all riders gathered. Serving maids were already busy giving glasses of ale and wine to the soldiers who had entered the great hall. A few lords sat in long wooden chairs and Myrcella's heart started to pound as she saw them covered in mud and almost all dripping blood. Two men carried their comrade, his left foot missing and Myrcella took a sharp breath at the sight. She located maester Vyman who was treating the wound of a large white-haired man with four chains linked by a central ring sigil on his breastplate, blood flowed from his temples which was torn by his opponent's sword. More wounded soldiers came through the door and filled the great hall. Everywhere she looked she saw bloodied men-at-arms. Those who were missing a limb moaned and screamed, the rest just sat on the stone floor and sipped their wine.
"Did they win?,If that is so, then what about the Lannister troops?" She thought terrified.
She turned to the man standing in the middle of the room. He was tall, with greying hair and had wrinkles on his face. But just like her grandfather he seems to carry himself like a man of half his age. He was wearing a mud-red armour which was caked with blood, mud and grime. But she instantly knew who he was, the big red leaping trout on his armour gave it away.
"Ser Brynden" She said, hurrying towards him "What happened?". She asked concerned.
"Princess!" He exclaimed surprised, as he didn't expected to see her here "What are you doing here?"
Myrcella ignored him and asked again "What happened?".
See Bryndrn was silent before sighing and replying "The enemy army is bigger, than we expected" he said grimly "Lord Tarly surprised us all, we didn't expected them to reach Maidenpool so quickly".
Lord Randyll Tarly, one of the best general in Westeros. The only man who manage to defeat Robert Baratheon in the field of battle. She didn't thought, he was the one leading the attacking army.
"We manage to push his army back, but we took heavy casualties" The Blackfish continued "More than 3,000 dead with another 2,000 wounded".
She closed her eyes mourning all the deaths even though they were fighting against her family.
She looked around her and noticed that in a short time the great hall was filled with wounded men. Some still carry arrows caught in their bodies, others suffer from open wounds that pour blood on the floor. They all moaned in pain, and their cries filled the hall.
"We need to amputate that leg!"
"Don't! Please don't take off my foot!"
"Wine for the wounded, and milk of the poppy only for those who need amputation!"
"Strip them out of their armors! Fetch more water and bring me sterilized needles! Hurry, these men need their wounds to be sewn!"
Maester Vyman's voice pulled her from her eerie and she hurriedly came to the old maester. Her three guards looked uncertain as they followed her.
"Maester Vyman, is there anything I can help?" she asked. She had too. The old maester and the servants were overwhelmed by the sudden flood of men and more were coming through the castle's sluice gate.
"Princess, you shouldn't be here," maester Vyman answered. "You better go back to your solar."
"I can help. Please, I want to."
The maester looked doubtful but he nodded, "Fine then. Can you sew wounds?"
"I can try."
Maester Vyman gave her threads of silk and sterilized needles. A young man was brought up on a stretcher to her, stripped from the waist up to show a gaping wound on his shoulder. The wound was deep and he groaned in pain even though he was half subdued by wine. She had to resist the nausea when she saw his flesh peeking out from the wound. A woman brought a bowl of water for her to wash her hands.
Under the maester's guidance she cleaned the wound first and while the bleeding thankfully has stopped, there's still a giant, gaping wound in the soldier's bare shoulder. She'd need to sew it to reduce the chance of infection.
"Just like when you sew a dress," the maester said as she carefully pushed the needle through the soldier's skin.
It was different; she could feel the flesh beneath her finger shuddered to reject puncture after punctures she carefully took. While garments were easy to penetrate and stay still, but not human flesh. They were thick and resilient as she tried to sew above the fat, and when she had gone deep enough she twisted her hand so that the needle started coming up on the other side of the wound. Her hands were shaking the whole affair but thankfully she managed just fine, or at least she thought so.
"Good," the maester nodded, satisfied. "Now pull the tip of the needle until you have about one or two inches of the silk left on the right side of the wound, before you release the needle."
She did as the maester instructed and created a simple overhand knot with two loops to secure the silk. It took her ten minutes to patch up the soldier, and when she was finished another was brought to her. By her second soldier, maester Vyman had long gone to tend to other wounded men.
She had just finished patching up her seventh soldier when cries were heard from the door as more soldiers were brought up.
She looked at herself, the front of her dress and hands Was already covered with blood but she couldn't waste the time to clean herself, not when innocents are dying.
For the next few hours, she continued to treat the wounded. Cleaning their wounds and sewing them. She could already tell that many soldiers were starting to respect her. She was their enemy and hostage at that. But she still treated their wounds.
"Thank you" The Last soldier that she was treating said, with tears of gratitude in his eyes. He was no more than six and ten namedays old.
Myrcella nodded happily, "Don't worry, you will be fine" She assured the soldier before standing up.
She looked around the hall and saw everyone looking at her with respect and admiration in their eyes. And for the first time time Myrcella felt that she was somewhat useful in her life.
They may have been her family's enemies, but they are still humans. And as long as she stays here, she will help them in anyway she can.
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With Robb taking most of his troops to attack the Reach, it left The Riverlands vulnerable to any attack. So an army under Randyll Tarly attacked Maidenpool, but they we're repealed by the Blackfish and his Rivermen.
I wanted to write a chapter, for the battle between the Blackfish and Randyll Tarly (Two of the best commanders in Westeros) but decided against it. Instead showing it as an aftermath through Myrcella's perspective.
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And done!
Did you like the chapter. It is first time I have written from Myrcella's perspective. In the books she had a kind character but she also had a tough side (She stood up against Joffrey). I hope I did her character justice.
Now as you can see, Myrcella is conflicted. One side of her is praying for her family and another is for Robb, the man she loved.
If you liked this chapter don't forget to leave a comment because remember reviews are food for a writer's soul.