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Wolf Pact by DizzyDG
 TV » Game of Thrones Rated: M, English, Family & Romance, [Robb S., Myrcella B.], Words: 163k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 1k+, Published: Dec 24, 2015 Updated: Sep 13, 2018865Chapter 19: XVII: Lady of Winterfell
A/N: Hey guys, sorry this is a bit late! I got rather busy yesterday, unexpectedly. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
unnamed visitor: Thank you very much, glad you enjoyed it. Indeed, I agree, if Joffrey were still alive then Tommen and Myrcella would likely be left at the sidelines again. Hope you like the new chapter!
Guest: He is indeed, for a little while at least.
Boramir: Thanks very much, glad you liked it. The Targaryens are finished for this story, I know there may be another out there hiding under a rock, but after what happened to Dany I think he'll probably stay under that rock. It would be nice for it to be Ser Janos, but I like to think that he's already dead. I don't think he would have lasted very long during the war against the walkers haha.
Right-ho folks, on we go!
:)
XVII: Lady of Winterfell
Myrcella
He was leaving again. He was mere minutes away from walking out of the door and leaving again. For longer this time, no doubt. He was insistent on no one coming out and waving him off, instead he was saying his farewells inside the keep. Most had been made now, he had embraced Bran and Rickon and shared a few japes with them. He had ruffled Arya's hair and insisted she behave herself in his absence and not spend all her time in the tiltyard. Then he had embraced her too and moved to his mother. They were speaking in hushed tones near the door, and try as she might Myrcella could not make out what they were talking about. She swallowed hard, her stomach clenched unpleasantly as Robb finally stopped speaking to his mother and embraced her tightly for a moment. There was only her left now, and she was dreading this goodbye. The first time had been bad enough, but at least it had been away from prying eyes. She took a deep breath as he turned to look at her, seeing regret shining in the impossible blue of his eyes.
It would do no good to let her inner misery show on her face. No doubt that would only make him feel even guiltier for leaving her again. She had lost count of the number of times he had apologised to her the day and night before. It seemed as though he had whispered it against every inch of her skin as they had enjoyed one another one last time before dawn broke. Myrcella wrapped her arms around his waist as he came before her, his own clutching her close to his chest as she breathed him in. If she had her way she would never let go. If she had her way someone else would be riding out to Long Lake and dealing with the deserter from the Wall. It would have been pointless to argue against his leaving though. He would go, just as he had gone to Torrhen's Square, and she did not want them to part having exchanged ill words. Instead she had told him she would miss him, but that she understood that he had a duty to perform. He had seemed relieved at her words. That alone was enough to keep her biting her tongue.
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and she closed her eyes tight, imprinting the feel of him on her mind. The memory would have to be enough to sustain her in his absence. She was already imagining the empty space beside her, the cold sheets in the place of his solid, warm body. Gods. She missed him already despite him still being here. When he pulled back slightly she had to resist the urge to press herself flush against him again. Instead she raised her head, meeting his eyes and forcing a smile to her face. "I'll be back as soon as I can," he murmured to her, and she nodded.
"I will count the days," she told him honestly, and a smile twitched the corners of his mouth.
"I am sure you will find plenty to do in my absence, just promise me you'll stay safe and warm," he implored her, and again she nodded.
"I will gladly promise you, if you will promise me the same," she said, and it was his turn to nod, before he leant in and pressed a firm kiss to her forehead.
"I promise," he murmured against her skin, his lips fluttering warmly against her. It was almost enough to make her shudder, her fingers clenching slightly around his forearms. "I'd best not keep the men waiting any longer," he said more loudly, as though to all present. Myrcella forced herself to let go of his arms, seeing that look of regret in his eyes again as his own hands came from her waist.
"The sooner you leave, the sooner you will return," Lady Stark said briskly, and Myrcella nodded, trying to brighten her expression. Robb clearly wasn't fooled, she could tell by the look in his eyes, but she was grateful that he said nothing to call attention to it. Instead he cupped her face in his hands gently before pressing a firm but chaste kiss to her lips. There were unspoken words in his eyes when he pulled back, and she felt her own sticking in her throat.
"I'll be back soon," he finally said, after which he turned abruptly and marched from the parlour. The silence he left behind was thick, and Myrcella could feel four sets of eyes on her as she stood there. If she looked she knew she would see sympathy, and that was the last thing she wanted to be faced with. Instead she took a deep breath before she too marched from the parlour.
She didn't stop until she reached the entrance hall, and she could hear the sound of hooves on stones even through the closed doors. Without another thought she went for them, the guards springing into action at once, opening them up before bowing her through them. She had forgotten her cloak, but it hardly mattered, she wouldn't be out for long. As she descended the steps she saw the last of the mounted men disappearing under the northern gate of the keep. She walked briskly towards the gatehouse, shivering slightly in the cold air, but grateful at least that it wasn't snowing. Quickly, she made for the steps that would take her up onto the ramparts. The wind was more raw up here, and she shuddered as she looked north, seeing the small band of men riding quickly down the road that would lead them towards Long Lake. At the head of the party she could make him out easily, his auburn head easily distinguished from his dark companions. He didn't look back as she stood up there watching him, but it eased her somewhat as she kept her eyes on him until he became little more than a speck in the vast bleakness of the North.
Myrcella allowed herself to wallow for a few days, missing Robb more than she had ever imagined she would. It was worse this time, on account of the fact that they had had such a blissful time together since he had returned from Torrhen's Square. She even missed the sound of his breathing. That was when she knew she had to snap out of it. Robb wouldn't want her to be miserable in his absence. What she needed was something to distract her from missing him. So, with that in mind, on the third day she hauled herself out of bed and dressed warmly, braiding her hair back from her face and pulling on her sturdiest boots. When she was ready she made her way from their chambers and down the hallway to the stairs. Down she went, entering the dining hall first so she could break her fast. There was no one around but the servants, and Myrcella did her best to ignore the hardness in their eyes when they were curtseying to her. The women were the worst, she had discovered that quickly. Not one of them had been what she would call kind, and it made her heart ache for Etta.
She had written to her old attendant, but had yet to hear a reply. Gods, she hoped that she was alright. Myrcella imagined that she might have left the Capitol and returned home to the Stormlands by now. Perhaps her family would have found a match for her. Myrcella hoped that she would be happy, thinking that she might mention her to Tommen in her next letter and hope that her brother knew something of her. Of course, it could just be that her returning letter had been lost. That happened a lot during winter, and it was well upon them now. At least, it was here in the North. She had grown quickly used to the cold, and had not let the snows stop her from taking her daily walks with Robb. A cold sun still shone for a few hours each day. It was just enough to cheer her, just the sight of it. The keep was where she clung to when the darkness came though, the soft warmth of the candles, and the flickering heat of the countless fires.
Myrcella pointedly thanked the servants who brought her breakfast, but not one of them would look her in the eye as they served her. She tried not to let it get to her, but it was difficult to when she saw how they fawned over the other members of the Stark family. Some of the guards had grown to speak kindly to her, and she had been pleased to share smiles with them as she went about her daily business. The serving girls though were apparently less forgiving. Myrcella often saw them whispering behind their hands. She did not know what they uttered to one another, but it was not hard to guess. They assumed her an imposter. A bastard. A girl with no right to sit the throne next to their beloved king. She sighed heavily and finished the rest of her breakfast before picking up her wine cup and draining it. With that she pushed away from the table and made her way down the middle of the hall, purposely raising her chin just a little higher than necessary. It didn't matter what they thought. Robb and the Starks mattered, and they wanted her here. That was enough for her.
She approached the guards in the entrance hall, smiling brightly for them, pleased when they returned the gesture easily. "Are you wishing to leave the keep, my queen?" one of them asked her.
"That depends," she responded, "I am looking for Lady Stark, do either of you gentlemen know where she might be?"
"I believe she was heading to the steward, my queen," came her reply, and she nodded her thanks.
"Thank you," she voiced it, "I will trouble you no longer." They both bowed to her as she turned on her heel and made her way down the hallways towards the steward's quarters. She was glad that Lady Stark was with him and not with the Maester so she didn't have to head out into the cold to reach his tower. Myrcella paused when she came to the door, hoping her intrusion would be welcome, before she raised her fist and knocked lightly.
"Come," it was the steward, Beron, who called for her to enter, and she did as she was bid. "My queen," he bowed lowly to her at once, and she hoped that she wouldn't blush. More than anything she wanted him to take her seriously and not see her as a little girl playing at queen.
"This is a surprise," Lady Stark said kindly, "what is it we can do for you?"
"I wondered if I could help," Myrcella said, meeting her good-mother's eyes and seeing the surprise in them. It was to be expected, she supposed. So far, despite Robb being insistent that she was now Lady of Winterfell, she had been happy to leave all the duties to his mother. Lady Stark had been in the role for years, and it terrified Myrcella to even think of taking over from her. As far as Robb knew she helped his mother while he was otherwise engaged, and Myrcella hadn't had the heart to correct him. Now he was gone, she was determined to learn properly how to run the household and the keep. Her own mother had never taught her, and deemed it beneath her. This wasn't the Capitol though, everyone here at Winterfell had a duty. Queen or not, Myrcella was determined to pull her weight and show everyone that she could fit properly here.
"Of course," Lady Stark's response pulled her from her inner thoughts, and she smiled in relief at once.
"I think it passed time I learned how to take care of things," Myrcella said, and her good-mother smiled at her, her eyes so like Robb's sparkling with something that looked almost like pride.
"I will be happy to guide you," she assured her, "but don't think you must do everything exactly as I have been doing. We all have our own ways, and as long as they work, it matters not that they differ." Myrcella took a breath of relief at that, before taking the few steps to stand at her good-mother's side. "These are our usual trading routes," Lady Stark pointed to the papers strewn across the table.
"May I?" Myrcella asked, looking between her and the steward. Beron gestured to them easily, smiling slightly at her.
"Please, go ahead, my queen," he said, and she pulled a few of the sheets closer to her. She recognised the names of most of the places, though there were a few she didn't. In her mind she made sure to memorise them so she could look them up on the big map of the North in Robb's council chambers later.
She noted that Winterfell even shared trade with some of the towns in the Riverlands, recognising them as those closest to the border. There was a shipment from Dragonstone that appeared to come but once every six moons, and she realised after a moment of thought that it was likely dragonglass. Vaguely she remembered hearing her grandfather speak of the walkers, how they could not assume that they would be gone forever. "If they rise again we will be prepared, I will not lose such numbers again." That was why the Wall had so many new recruits, and why a stock of dragonglass weapons was being forged and stored. Myrcella already knew that those men of the Watch who went out ranging were already required to arm themselves with such weapons. Better safe than sorry after all. She lay the sheet she had been studying back down on the table, taking a breath before she made any comment. "I imagine Winterfell will not be able to rely on trade for much longer," she spoke up, and Beron nodded his head.
"Many of the more remote settlements have already ceased delivery," he informed her, "for now the Kings road is still passable, but it will not be for long. When the snows lay thick all northern settlements will be responsible for their own survival, and that includes Winterfell." It was her turn to nod at that, taking a long breath as she imagined all the little villages and their occupants who would somehow have to manage through the winter. Again, she silently prayed that it would be a short one. She also knew that many of those in tiny, remote settlements came to Winter Town when the weather grew colder. Robb had pointed out to her how many plumes of smoke were rising from the town surrounding them one evening when they were walking along the battlements. He had told her that it was a good sign; that it meant many people had already managed the journey, boarding up their summer homes before coming to their capital for the winter.
"Robb told me there is a bountiful harvest in the glass gardens," Myrcella spoke up, hoping that her husband had indeed been telling the truth. Thankfully both Beron and Lady Stark nodded their agreement, and she felt a little placated.
"And the grain store is just over half full," Beron elaborated, "which is good, considering how short the summer proved to be. Farmers have brought their animals in from the hills, and we already have meat preserved." Again Myrcella nodded, trying not to let her distaste show on her face as she remembered the tough strips of salted beef and pork that they had had at the Capitol during the last winter.
"We are well prepared for winter, Myrcella," Lady Stark smiled kindly, "we are Starks, after all."
Myrcella's head was spinning by the time she went up to her chambers for bed. She had had no idea the amount of work that Lady Stark put into running Winterfell. Naively, she had assumed that most of the work was done by others, and that her good-mother merely oversaw it, or ordered it to be done. Not so. Lady Stark seemed to have no help besides that of the steward and the Maester, though she had been without complaint as Myrcella had trailed her around, trying to take in as much as she could. There were so many problems that she had to consider, and so many people to speak and consult with. There were things she had to order for the keep that Myrcella had never even considered, such as candles and firewood. They had spoken to the woodmen, and they had told them of the difficulty of keeping up their work rate given the worsening weather and the short hours of daylight.
Lady Stark had listened sympathetically, and in the end she had promised them the coin needed to recruit two more men. Myrcella had asked her where she would find the coin from, and her good-mother had told her that there would be no need for fine silks and laces to be bought for the seamstress during such a time. They had then been confronted by stonemasons who were grumbling about their lack of work, again, Lady Stark had placated them, telling them they could work on fixing the crumbling walls in the gardens. It wasn't much, but it was something to keep them occupied until Robb returned and could order something more substantial for them to be getting on with. Myrcella knew that he intended to add to the stables and the grain stores, but both she and Lady Stark were unwilling to sanction such a large amount of coin without his explicit instruction.
Thom, the baker, had asked that he be allowed slightly more grain each day so he could bake more loaves. Now that the population of Winter Town was increasing he was sold out of bread long before midday and having to turn disappointed customers away. That was something Myrcella had felt confident enough in granting. Even with her limited knowledge it made sense to allow Thom more grain each day. The more he sold the more coin he made, which meant that more coin would come back to Robb through taxes. Added to that was the knowledge that the people would be better fed. Myrcella also knew that three wagons of grain were on their way from the Riverlands, and would likely reach Winterfell within the next days. After giving Thom permission to increase his order of grain she had looked to Lady Stark to make sure she had done the right thing.
Thankfully her good-mother had smiled, and told her that the man Thom employed to grind the grain into flour would likely be grateful for the extra coin and the extra hours as well. She had been relieved at Lady Stark's praise, and glad that she had managed to at least contribute to her duties. Selfishly, she had also hoped that Thom might speak of her act of kindness to others, and that they might begin to thaw a little towards her. She had not come across many of the townsfolk, but she could not help but imagine that they probably harboured similar feelings to those of the servants at the keep. Hopefully Thom would have a kind word to say about her, and hopefully, others would listen to him. She didn't want Robb's subjects to despise her. Likely they would never love her or clamour for her, but she did not relish the thought of being forever looked upon disdainfully and whispered about behind raised hands. She did not want to end up being her mother.
Myrcella shuddered slightly as she undressed, wrapping Robb's robe firmly around her and deciding not to think any more about her mother. She had eventually written back to her, again insisting that Robb treated her well and that the Starks were being most kind to her. There was no reply as yet, but she tensed herself for one every day whenever she saw the Maester approaching with letters in his hands. She lived with half a hope that this time she would get through to her mother. Likely it would prove futile, but at least she could say she had tried. With a sigh she pulled back the covers and furs and climbed into bed, snuggling down against the pillows and tucking the furs around her. Once settled she tugged the lapels of Robb's robe closer to her face and inhaled the scent of him that still lingered there. She had worried that he might take it away with him when he left, but he had laughed and told her that when under canvas in snow it was best to sleep fully clothed.
Gods. She hoped he was warm enough, that enough furs had been packed onto the horses, and that they were managing to light a fire come nightfall. He had told her that he would be just fine, assured her that he was a Stark. That winter flowed through his veins. Grey Wind was with him too, and Myrcella had no doubt that his wolf would curl up at his side and keep him warm should it be necessary. She closed her eyes, feeling irrationally jealous of the great beast. What she wouldn't give to be the one curling up beside him every night, warming him despite the freezing temperatures surrounding them. She sighed. Soon enough he would be back, and she had no doubt that he wouldn't be able to leave again before the snows melted. If news of a deserter had come just a little later then she knew that it would just have had to wait until spring. The snows were falling so thickly when they came now, and the air was so cold that it all just settled, freezing hard and just waiting for another flurry to add more height to it.
Already, Myrcella was living with the fear that Robb might not be able to make it home. She had voiced it at dinner, trying to sound casual as she asked how deep the snow would have to fall to prevent him from returning. Bran had soothed her fears somewhat, telling her that the snow froze so hard that people would only sink down a few inches in the softer, newly fallen snow, before hitting the rock hard snow beneath. It could be several feet deep, but as long as it was frozen solid it didn't matter. Horses would find it difficult, especially with the weight of a man atop them, but it came to it then the men would just dismount and walk, leading their mounts behind them. Myrcella hoped it wouldn't come to that. Right now the snow was only a few feet deep, easily passable for the horses, and thankfully there had only been a few flurries of snow since Robb had departed. He was going further north though, further into the winter. She could only hope that the snows would not fall too hard where he was going. She needed to know he would get home, already being without him was like torture. The sooner he returned to her, the better she would sleep at night.
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed! More next weekend!
:)
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