╣a part of herself was carved out, left to die in their lost home╠
Sansa's chambers were as she left them all those years ago. The same tapestries rested on her walls and the same clothes hung in her wardrobe. She didn't fit any of them anymore, of course, and relied on a chest full of fine furs that Prince Oberyn had sent with her.
That was how she felt in Winterfell, she didn't fit. Robb and Myrcella had taken over all the happenings of the castle. Bran had his Reed companions, always watching, whispering plans and schemes in each other's ears. Baby Rickon had his wildling companion Osha. That left Catelyn and Sansa. Both not truly aware of their purpose.
Sansa, though she tried not to, resented her family for not fighting hard enough to get her back from Joffrey and his mother. If it weren't for a stranger from Dorn, her head would no doubt be on a spike beside her father and husband's. Her husband who had left to treat with Targaryens across the sea.
Mostly though, she resented the fact that Arya was left behind. Jaime had stolen two prisoners away in the dark of the night. What had stopped him from stealing Arya away with them? Arya had always wanted her freedom. The world was cruel for taking it away, for placing her in a mold that Sansa was more built to fit.
Constant torture in the South had her jumping at every shadow, convinced that Tywin had ordered soldiers to kidnap her and bring her back. Robb was worried another war would ensue. Myrcella assured that any blame would be placed on Dorn. Sansa awaited the announcement of her sister's coronation. By the God's law, the Lannisters would be unable to war against the queen's family.
The Godswood was the only place that she felt truly at peace. She wasn't particularly religious, the gods had made it quite clear that they were not on her side. No, it wasn't the holy aspect of the small forest that calmed her. It was the heaviness of the air, thick from age and moisture from the hot spring. It was the sweet smell of dew that used to hang over her father and Arya and Jon like a cloak. It was the feeling of being in the North where the Godswood trees grew tall and thick opposed to those in the South that had long ago perished in favor of the Faith of the Seven.
There, her mother didn't dare venture. The face of the Weirwood haunted her now even more after her husband's death. If Sansa ever did have company, it was that of her brother Bran, who spoke only when spoken to. She didn't mind much. It didn't unnerve her the way it did the rest of their family. Sansa understood how it felt to be in a place that she did not fit. She knew the pain of her family wanting her to be how she was before everything fell apart.
When she was not in the Godswood, she was in the nursery with her nephew. Myrcella was often there as well. Sansa found that her friendship with the Lannister princess from their early days was easy to rekindle. That's where she sat at present, nursing a mug of sweet-milk in a chair by the fire with Myrcella and Ed crawling between them.
"I do not wish to alarm you dearest, and trust me when I say that this has not been set in stone yet," Myrcella said softly, "Robb has been speaking of joining you with another Northern house." A chill made its way down Sansa's back. Memories of the vast Sept of Baelor and a wedding cloak on her shoulders resurfaced.
"But my marriage to Tyrion..." It was a weak defense, but it was her only one.
Myrcella reached for the hand not grasping the mug of sweet-milk. "Am I wrong in thinking that it was unconsummated? My uncle was never cruel and I do not imagine you willingly would have let him into your bed." Her eyes bore into Sansa's who found it hard to answer. "I will take your silence as an affirmative."
"And I take you discussing this with me as the cowardice of my brother." Sansa shot back. She was tired of her family tiptoeing around her as if she would break at any given moment. "I would have him speak to me himself if he is to follow through with such a proposal."
"He thought I would be the best to speak to you." Sansa's skin prickled in anger. "Do not take it the wrong way, it's just..." She trailed off as her eyes grew distant. "I know what it is like to live under Joffrey and Cersei. My mother was hardly kind to me, she treated me more often with cold familiarity rather than love. Joffrey he-" Myrcella swallowed and looked down. "He was not a good brother." If Sansa had been born with a worse temperament and invisible manners, she would have asked her good sister about her experiences. "You are lucky to have kind brothers and a mother who loves you."
Sansa slumped back into her chair. "My mother hasn't spoken to me for weeks. It is hard to see love when it is not shown."
Myrcella smiled softly. "Perhaps it is the love that doesn't need to be shown that is the strongest."
"Perhaps love is love and needs to be given with as much force as it is felt." Sansa stood, not really caring that her manor was quite rude. "Pardon me Lady Stark, I find myself tiring."
Myrcella didn't seem to care about her sour mood and the return of cold formalities. She simply held out her hand for Sansa's mug and smiled. "Of course, get some rest, I will see you on the morrow." Sansa cast one last glance at her nephew, babbling on the ground. "Ed says goodbye."
"Goodbye dear darling."
✵ ✵ ✵ ✵
Rhena had never felt lighter. Early in the morning the gates of Meereen had opened to her and her company. Former slaves rushed to meet her, ushering her into the city along with her family. 'Mhysa!' They cried from the streets as they caught glimpses of her silver hair.
Mother had always been a title she knew she would claim. Rhena hadn't realized just how many children she would shelter under her wings. Nothing made her feel closer to her own mother, who was once as loved by the people of Westeros as Rhena was by hers in the East.
Children clung to her, guiding her throughout the streets. When she looked back, Aryen, Tyros, and Daenerys all had children swarming them. The queen of dragons threw her head back and laughed, feeling more at home than she had in years.
The great pyramid stood before Rhena, the first real seat of power that she had gained. Above the golden Harpy, four dragons flew, asserting their mother's claim on the city. That would have to go. She could not forgive deities who condoned slavery and it's shortcomings. Rhena could, however, forgive those who had been led since birth.
Her and her family gathered on a small outlook, one that stood above the thousands of freed slaves. Thousands of faces that looked up to her, eyes filled with adoration and love. 'This is what it is to rule.' Rhena thought to herself. 'Father could never brag this much support in his many years as king.'
Though she knew her voice would not carry to every soul in the city, she knew her message would eventually. "I am Rhena Starborn, blood of the dragon, of the house Targaryen. Today, my children, you are free." Cheers followed as the people of Meereen relished in their victory. "I did not do this, my army did not do this, you did. You took your freedom for yourselves. It was only a whispered thought until you all decided to make it a scream. Today you joined my sons and my daughters, my sisters and my brothers. Today my children, you are free!" Children were lifted onto shoulders, husbands kissed wives, "Understand that I cannot let these crimes against you go unrecognized. I know that by taking this city, I am responsible for the lives of everyone. Every former slave. Every former master. Children lined the roads, crucified, on the orders of your great masters. I would return the favor."
"Your grace." Barristan stepped in, "A good ruler knows when to deliver justice. A great one knows when to deliver mercy instead."
"Perhaps it is best to begin your rule here with an act of kindness." Callan added.
Rhena thought for a moment. "I will deliver my justice to the masters. Their punishment will be softened by the mercy of their former slaves."
The two men exchanged wary glances, but ultimately decided speaking would not be productive. Besides, Rhena had already turned the other way.
"I will not insult your intelligence by assuming that you cannot understand the difference between cruelty and kindness." She paused, locking eyes with a small boy sat atop his mother's shoulders. "But trust me when I say I understand that not every master is cruel. Crucified masters will line the roads leading to Meereen," Upset mummers rose up as the crowd shifted, trying to decide if they had just allowed a tyrant into their city. "But if you speak for yours, if you can defend them in a way that convinces me, they will be free to join this new world, as equals. They will be stripped of their titles and will work to earn their living, but they will not be punished for simply following the norms of a culture."
"Many may try to bribe you, may try to use you to harm me." Rhena shrugged. "It matters not. If that is the case and I find it to be true, you too will be punished in kind. But those of you who help me rebuild the structure of this great city," She broke off, shivers running down her spine. "Will bathe in the riches that are to come."
The city swelled with cheers as Rhena stepped away, back to her sons and sister. "Where to now?" Aryen asked, eyes bright and searching. That is what she loved of her youngest. Like her, he was always looking for the next adventure, never contented in one spot.
"We will make our home in the Great Pyramid." At their uneasy glances up, Rhena laughed. "You'll be built like a bull by the time you reach the top, trust me. Once the dragons are large enough to ride, we won't even need the stairs."
Viscera started to fuss in Daenerys' arms. "May I?" Rhena asked softly. Slowly but surely, the sisters were beginning to relearn their relationship. They had grown so much from that stormy night when they escaped Dragonstone together.
Daenerys smiled easily and handed her daughter to the new queen of Meereen. Her niece stilled almost instantly, big purple eyes tracing her aunt's face like a map. Viscera was nearing her first year and grew heavier each time Rhena held her.
"My dearest girl," Rhena said, starting the long walk to the pyramid. "You will want for nothing here. You'll never wander the streets as I had to. You will be a princess of Meereen, a princess of the Seven Kingdoms." Viscera's plump fingers grasped Rhena's Lannister Pendant, toying with the heavy gold. It was a reminder to Rhena that she would have to face her once family soon. She would have to face Jaime, Cersei, and their children.
But for now, she was miles away from the Iron Throne and its treacheries. For now, they were safe.
✵ ✵ ✵ ✵
Myrcella really should have been asleep. The moon was high and bathed the halls with it's silver light, reflected off of the snow. The halls were bare of any guards, a normalcy for the time of night that she had chosen to roam. She had dismissed her personal guard ages ago, wanting to explore her new home unwatched. After being guarded by Kingsguard her whole life, it was more of a comfort to be alone.
Dusty scrolls from the maester's tower were bunched in her arms, older than the castle that stood on the ground beneath her. Myrcella had been using every spare moment searching for information on Jon Snow's predicament in the North. So far, there were no accounts from the early days, lost to war or negligence.
"Myrcella!" The lady of Winterfell jumped as her good-mother rounded the corner, eyes wild and scared.
"Lady Catelyn, what-" She was cut off by a cloak falling on her shoulders. Osha appeared behind Myrcella with Rickon and Bran not too far off, both in Hodor's arms. Rickon looked as if he were fighting sleep, but Bran looked as if he had been awake for hours. She couldn't fathom how they were so easily able to sneak up behind her.
The wildling met the princess's eyes unabashedly. "There's no time to explain, where is Eddard?" Osha did not usually speak to Myrcella directly. Their paths never truly crossed and she spent most of her time with Robb's younger brothers.
A pit settled low in Myrcella's stomach. "What is going on?" She searched frantically for Robb's blue eyes somewhere behind Catelyn, for Sansa's red hair.
Catelyn grabbed her by the arms. "Where is Eddard, Myrcella?"
Myrcella took a step back, unnerved by her husband's mother. Due to her Lannister coloring and name, Catelyn had never allowed herself to grow too close to the girl. It was only after the birth of her grandson and the return of her son that she had seen Myrcella anything other than Lannister. Their relationship was building, but slow. Never had they escalated to physical touch.
"He's in the nursery." She paused, "Where's Sansa, Robb?" Catelyn looked around, seemingly lost. "Lady Catelyn,"
"We can't find Sansa, and Robb," She broke off. Tears gathering in the corners of her eyes. The pit grew, making it almost impossible to breathe.
"What happened to Robb?" Catelyn wouldn't look her in the eyes. "Catelyn tell me!"
"Bolton men are in our walls." Bran's voice was smooth and calm, the complete opposite of his mother's. It was eerie to listen to. "They have him in the courtyard,"
Myrcella looked at each of them, determination blossoming in her chest. "Then we must go to him. The Boltons lay under our command. It is not fit for them to rebel, they will be punished for this."
"Cella." Bran shook his head. "Our gates are burning, they've killed half of the household." Myrcella's feet were already moving, up the stairs to her left and toward the nursery. "We will make to Castle Black. To Jon and Stannis." He called up to her, paces behind with Hodor. "Rickon knows the servant's passages, he will lead us out."
"That still does not answer my question about Sansa and Robb." Myrcella was growing angry. How dare the Boltons. How dare they enter her home, take her husband's hall and seat. Over what? There was no ill will between the Starks and the Boltons. Starks were beloved in the North, thought of as kings, even after the defeat in the south.
Ned was crying in his small bed, alone. Thankfully, no Bolton men had thought to secure Robb's heir. Rickon was on the floor, running to a tapestry before Myrcella made it close to her son. The small thing pulled the heavy cloth away from the wall with surprising strength. He revealed a hole in the wall. It looked to be hastily made, with no craftsmanship, as if the stones were knocked out of the wall with a hammer.
Osha snatched a torch from the wall and led Rickon and Catelyn in. Adrenaline had made his body light in Myrcella's arms. Eddard was a baby still, but he grew and spoke with more ease everyday. Hodor carefully stepped in after Myrcella, mindful of the Stark lord in his arms. The tapestry fell closed behind them and stilled as Bolton men burst through the door.
"This is the nursery?" One of them asked harshly, voice muffled through the heavy fabric. A smack, "Answer me!" Myrcella covered her mouth to keep from reacting. Osha moved further into the tunnel in case the light could be seen through the cracks between tapestry and stone.
A woman sobbed at the impact. "Yes." Myrcella recognized her voice. She was one of her maids, brought with her from King's Landing.
"The babe's not here," He called out to someone further away. "Take us to the lord's chambers. Perhaps the whelp is slumbering there with his mother. Then Ramsay can have the bitch and pup at the same time." Another man, further away than the first, laughed at the crude joke. Myrcella felt nauseous. One minute. That was all that had saved her and her son from Ramsay Snow. She had heard stories of course, everyone had in the North, of the Dreadfort bastard that tortured and tormented. The boy who was suspected for the murder of his true born brother.
Catelyn pulled at her arm gently, urging her down the dark passage. They couldn't speak, of course. Some tunnel that branched off could carry their voices and give them away. Down stairs and through damp halls they went. Myrcella didn't even want to imagine how much time it had taken Rickon to memorize all of them. He led with Osha, never faltering in his steps.
A light could be seen up ahead, along with two figures. Myrcella's heart dropped. They had been found. Bolton men had found a way in and would catch them.
"Bran?" Meera's voice could hardly be heard, but a whisper traveled far. "Is that you?" As they got closer, Myrcella's anxiety was eased slightly by Meera's spear and Jojen's green eyes. A raven rested lightly on Meera's shoulder, nipping at a stray curl around her face. But where was Sansa?
"Meera." Bran sounded relieved. Actually, it was the most emotion Myrcella had heard out of him since before his fall. "You followed it." What it was, Myrcella could only guess, was the raven. But that didn't make much sense, so she chose to focus on the simple things.
"I did, we must hurry, as soon as they discover Lady Stark and Princess Myrcella are missing, they'll seal the castle. There's a way to the stables through here." She began to lead, winding through the parts of the castle Myrcella didn't even know existed.
Sansa and Robb still plagued her thoughts. Why was no one else concerned that they were most likely in harm's way or with the Boltons? Why would no one go back for them?
The stables were bathed in warm torchlight. A boy barely older than Bran lay on the straw close to the entrance, throat slit, warm blood still pouring from his veins. Beyond the heavy oak doors, Winterfell was burning. Through the small crack, Myrcella could see the battlements up in flames.
Rage burned heavily in Myrcella's belly. This was her home. It was her son's home. It was the home built by a Stark, kept by a Stark for thousands of years. The Boltons had no right to take that away from them. A pang low in her stomach reminded her of Robb and Sansa. Catelyn fought for her children with tooth and nail. Why now was she forsaking them so easily?
The light from outside was suddenly shadowed by a figure. Its form was disfigured and massive. If she didn't know any better, she would have said it was a centaur from the stories in the Red Keep libraries. And then a voice cried out, "All hail Lord Robb Stark, King in the North!"
Had Robb rallied the forces? Had he defended his home? Myrcella's feet urged her forward, surely it was safe now that the men were crying to their lord.
As she got closer, however, everything seemed to drop. Her heart felt heavy and cold, sunk down to her feet as a stone in a river. She had not eaten much in the past stretch of night, but her stomach heaved with the effort of looking.
A body sat astride a great black war-horse, tied and splinted into a sitting position. It lulled back and forth, struggling to hold up the massive head of Greywind that was sewn upon its shoulders. The gray cloak that bore the emblem of House Stark was soaked through with so much blood, it looked black.
That was her Robb. That was her husband. She couldn't take her eyes away from the gruesome scene. Even while as she looked upon his defiled body, Myrcella believed Robb to be somewhere in the castle. In his study perhaps, looking over grain shipments with Ned in his lap. Maybe he was waiting for her in their chambers, half hidden beneath the warm furs.
Not this.
She doubled over and grasped the straw in pain. Something was breaking inside her. Some door was closing on her heart. Myrcella's hand flew to her middle. Gods, she hadn't even been able to tell him-
"Myrcella." Catleyn's voice was hard and void of any emotion. Lady Stark's eyes were locked on her son's body, so close to them, yet worlds away. "Hurry, if we wait any longer, we will be discovered. They will kill Ned the same as Robb. They will kill the rest of my sons and rape us. We will die or we will live in servitude. House Stark will be lost. We must leave."
Through her haze of grief, Myrcella marveled at the control that Catelyn had suddenly fashioned over her emotions when, just moments before, Robb's name had almost brought her to hysterics. Did that mean...? Did Catelyn watch her firstborn die. Had she witnessed the act.
Once again her thoughts circled back to Sansa. Where in all the hells was she? Could it be that she would ride through the courtyard next, dress split down the middle to expose her, neck slit, and blood running as red as her hair?
The rest of the group were mounted already, waiting on the princess to gain her footing again. "Jon will keep us safe Myrcella." Rickon called, though he was instantly scolded by Osha for bringing his voice above a whisper.
Jon would keep them safe. That much Myrcella knew. She was not as familiar with the Stark bastard as the rest, but she knew him to be honorable and kind, much the same as his father. He would not leave them to ruin.
"To Jon." Myrcella's voice was hallow. A part of herself was carved out, left to die with Robb in their lost home. She would lay it to rest there, hoping that in his death, Robb would find her.
Hey kids it's been a hot second. Know that I have not abandoned this and am in a full writing swing...for much later chapters. I find it easier to complete the later ones to have a goal to reach and a line to follow. I also just find the later plots and arcs that I've created to be far more interesting an exiting at the moment.
ALSO Hozier's new album came out!!! For the past few years, I've been debating what Rhena's theme would sound like. If it would have hints of Daenerys' or Jaime's. Son of Nyx in Hozier's Unreal Earth is quite literally what I've been searching for (especially from 1:18 and on). I'll link it if you want to give a listen :)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9zoR-0EVAA