Chapter 62
A nervous Myrcella waited in the bedding chamber, as a thousand thoughts passed through her head. Despite what others around her may believe, Myrcella was not oblivious to the nature and reality of the relationship between a husband and his wife, and though she had been told a hundred tales about what transpired during the first night, each tale had been different from the last.
Lady Genna had answered many of her questions, though she had also asked her to Cregan to do the right thing, and her heart stilled as she heard the door creak open, as Cregan entered the room, dressed in a rather simple doublet.
Her own face flushed as her nakedness dawned on her, and she tried to cover herself up with her arms on instinct, and she saw him sigh as he saw through her fear and nervousness in an instant.
"You shouldn't be so nervous," he began as he walked forward and sat down beside her, and she frowned, remembering her grandfather's words.
"Aren't we going to cos—" and her voice stuttered as she struggled to say the words, though he did not let her finish as he shook her head.
"No," and the immediateness of his answer hit her hard, and he seemed to realise her mistake as he quickly looked towards her.
"It's not that I don't want to," he quickly consoled her.
"Then why?" she asked. he looked into her eyes.
"Because you are too young," he answered, and she frowned speaking her mind.
"But one of my lady-in-waiting was a year younger than I, when she got married and her husband consummated the marriage on the first night," and her tale of the night had been one of pain, blood, and screams.
"That was a different man, and an entirely different girl," he said, pushing back a strand of her hair, as he continued.
"You are too young, and consummating a marriage at such an age could lead to some complications," and Lady Genna had warned her about it, yet her grandfather's words rang in her head.
"But we need an heir," she whispered and glanced towards the door.
"And we will make one," he answered with a rather mischievous smile.
"But not today," and he patted her head, as he would during their lessons.
"So, sleep. You must be quite tired," and indeed she was tired.
"But the blood, and the lords outside," she suddenly remembered, and he sighed, before he took out a knife from his pocket.
"Stay back," and before she could say anything, he had made a cut on his shoulder, forcing her to gasp.
"What are you doing?" she screamed, as she pulled the knife from his hand.
"Be careful," he warned, as the knife hit the ground, and she saw him splatter blood on the sheets as she realised his plan.
"Why would you hurt yourself?" she asked angrily, and he raised a brow.
"To fool your grandfather," and she had no answer to that, as she remembered that he had been sitting beside her, as Lord of the West had asked her to produce an heir quickly.
"But the lords?" she asked.
"Anyone who dares to come near our room will have to face the wrath of not one but three giant direwolves, and no man in this castle is courageous enough to do that," and she finally understood why her Great Aunt had asked her to trust in him.
And she should have expected this out of him. He had always been like this, calm, composed, and prepared, and most of all loyal. The First Night was considered a sacred right for men, and while nervous, had he asked her to perform her wifely duties, Myrcella would have done so without complaint.
Yet, even now, he was making concessions to her and was trying to protect her.
"Thank you," she whispered, and he nodded, as he tore away a portion of the sleeve and began to tie it around the cut on her shoulder.
"Let me help," she said, taking the strip of cloth, as she clumsily tied it around the wound after cleaning it.
"The maids," she began slowly as her face heated up, remembering a few of the other stories and techniques that she had been told.
"They told me of some other methods to satisfy...." and he sighed, and shook his head.
"You need not do anything, Myrcella. Not today. Not until you are a fully grown woman," he added with a bit of finality.
"Just sleep, and rest. Leave it all to me," and as she finished tying the knot.
"One year," she declared resolutely.
"What?"
0000
CREGAN STARK
The celebrations for the Royal Wedding were still underway, yet he knew that they did not have the luxury of time, and with the realm still in turmoil he needed to act fast to stabilise the Seven Kingdoms so that he may prepare them for the next war to come, whether it be from the North or the East.
And so, he did not waste a day as he summoned a Council Meeting early in the morning, and as he sat at the head of the Council, he realised that he needed to fill up those empty seats quickly, for ruling an entire realm with a council of but three men was basically impossible.
"I must say, I was not expecting to be called on this day," whimpered Pycelle in his sagely voice, and despite knowing his allegiance, Cregan had no choice but to retain his services for some time.
"Indeed," added Lord Manderly. Thee fat Lord of White Harbor had been all smiles and laughs yesterday during the feast, and if the sway in his step was anything to go by, he had yet to recover from his drinking spree of last night.
"Well, how can a King rest easy while his people are suffering?" Cregan answered sagely.
"But it is your wedding, your grace. Gods willing, you will have a lifetime to rule the realm but such days come by only once in a person's life," and indeed that may be true, but they did not know of the dangers they faced.
"Perhaps, but the realm needs its king. Once peace has been established, we shall celebrate, but today we must act and bind the realm together," and with that, he turned towards his father.
"How goes the war in the West?" he asked, and his father nodded as he took out a missive and handed it to a servant who passed it to him.
"Theon gave up the plans of her sister's fleet. Using that information, Lord Tywin was able to force the Iron Islanders out of his land, and now Asha Greyjoy is sailing back towards Pyke," and that was good.
"Have we made demands of Lord Balon?" and it was the Grand Maester who shook his head.
"No. The Greyjoy Lord has refused to answer any of our letters," and that was a bit troubling, especially given that he had no eyes and ears on the Iron Islands as of yet.
The silence could be an indication of many different things, some bad, and some even worse.
"Is the Royal Fleet ready?" and after the fall of Stannis, they had taken control over the Royal Fleet, and apart from that, lords from all over the Reach, Stormlands, and the Riverlands offered their aid, in the form of ships and men to curry his favor.
"Yes, the fleet has been assembled near the shores of the Riverlands, and Lord Tywin prepares his own men and ships as we speak," and he planned to crush the Iron Islands in one move, attacking it with all his might from two different directions.
"You will need to appoint a commander for the fleet, your grace," added Lord Manderly and he would.
"I could lead the attack..." but he had yet to finish his words, as three voices cut him off in unison.
"No."
And he smiled as his father continued.
"You are a King. We cannot allow you to risk your life in a petty war like this," he added, and he nodded.
"But if not me, then who?" he asked.
"I could go," added his own father, and Cregan knew of his desire to leave the capital, but sadly, he could not grant him leave just yet.
"The capital needs your calming presence, you are as important as me and Myrcella," Cregan argued as he rubbed his chin, while he considered his options.
His uncle was a fool, and there were few lords whom he could trust with his forces.
"Davos Seaworth," he finished, finally announcing much to the shock of his councillors.
"You would trust the smuggler?" asked Lord Manderly, and Cregan shrugged.
"Despite his birth, the man is a formidable sailor and has experience fighting against the Iron Islanders," and the Grand Maester disagreed with his choice.
"The man is of common birth, your grace, and it is no secret that he is more loyal to Lady Shireen than to you. One cannot trust commoners with such a great honor, especially one with dubious loyalties," but his mind was made.
"Both the Queen and I agree that Lady Shireen holds no blame for her father's actions. She is the Queen's cousin, and our Queen does not wish to push away what little of the family she has," and that declaration drew quite a surprise from his three councillors.
"You intend to pardon the Princess?" asked Lord Manderly, and he nodded as he looked towards his father, inviting his opinion.
"Yes, Shireen is the only one apart from Myrcella who has the Baratheon blood in her veins. She is the only heir of Storms End, and the Queen would see her inherit her ancestral lands, and I support her decision," and the room was silent as all eyes turned towards his father.
"One must be careful in doling out justice, but I agree Lady Shireen is blameless in all this," and so the decision was made. There was one more claimant in the form of King Robert's bastard, and the boy even had some support amongst those loyal to Renly, but Cregan would much rather trust an innocent girl like Shireen rather than a bastard he knew nothing about.
"Speaking of the traitors, we still need to decide upon the fate of the Reach and the Vale," added Lord Manderly.
"Yes, and I have given it much thought...."
0000
OBERYN MARTELL
Years ago, Oberyn had made a promise to himself that he would never set foot in these Halls unless he had avenged the death of his sister. Yet last night he had danced and drunk in those very Halls, where Elia had screamed helplessly for mercy, where his niece and nephew were slaughtered, and it was only the wine and the promise of retribution that allowed him to keep a calm and level head.
The Usurper was gone. Dead in a pyre along with his last male heir, and now a new King sat on the throne. A Stark boy of a rather enigmatic reputation, and though he held little love for the Starks, the only reason that Dorne had chosen to side with Stark-Lannister alliance had been because of a chance at retribution, and the girl in front of him had nearly cost them that chance.
"What were you thinking?" he nearly screamed at his niece, who sat there with no care for the trouble she could have caused for them.
"What do you mean, uncle?" and Oberyn stood behind Arianne, as he continued.
"Do not play coy with me, Arianne," he admonished, for she was too young to play these games with him.
"You nearly destroyed all the goodwill that me and your father have gained with that one stunt of yours," and her actions last night had been quite troubling.
She had tried to humiliate the young Queen, as she tried to seduce away the King, while only hours had passed since the King and Queen had spoken their vows.
Though thankfully, the new King had enough tact to see through her ploy. He had soothed the matter with his words, and had it been any lesser man, Arianne would have split open the realm once more.
In the end, he had managed to protect both his own Queen and her honor, though if his cold gaze was anything to go by, he had not forgotten the matter at all.
"And what do you intend to gain with this goodwill?" she taunted, as she turned away from the mirror to face her.
"Do you think the Starks will give you your vengeance, uncle? Have you forgotten who stood by as Robert Baratheon laughed at the fate of Aunt Elia," and though he knew that she was only trying to sway his attention, his blood could not help but boil at those words.
"I have not forgotten anything!" he whispered.
"You are simply too naive to understand the nature of politics," and she scoffed.
"Is that why my father refuses to name me his heir?" and he should have guessed that this was why she had acted so rashly.
"You and father have been doing nothing but sitting around, making plans and plots while our enemies continue to grow and prosper," and indeed, they had planned and plotted for years, as Doran tried to pave the way for a Targaryen restoration which would seat her on the Iron Throne beside Viserys Targaryen.
But those planes turned to dust before they could come to fruition.
"At least I am doing something," she argued as Oberyn held himself back.
"Do not insult your father...." and before he could say anything more, someone knocked on the door.
"Who is it?" he raged, and found out that it was his own daughter Nymeria at the door.
"The King has summoned you to his solar...."
0000
As Asha moved through the empty Halls of Pyke she wondered what had become of the castle. The attack on the West had been a failure, and though she had managed to escape the Westerlands, her brother had not been so lucky and had been captured by the Starks of the North.
"What is going on here?" she whispered, and even during the journey, she had written to her father a dozen times, yet had received no answer from him. Not even a single raven. Even now, despite having moved through half the castle, strangely, she had yet to see even a single soul.
So, she was quite cautious as she reached the throne room, and she carefully pushed open the doors.
"Father. Fath..." and nothing could have prepared her for the sight in front of her. The reek of death hit her like a wave, and the floor glistened slick with blood, as hundreds upon hundreds of bodies of men, women, and children lay dead all over the throne room, and at its apex, perched upon the Seastone Chair, lay her father's severed head.
"No," she whimpered as her feet carried her forward, and she was so shaken that she did not hear any movement even as the lightning struck and lit up the room, as the doors closed behind her.
"What..." and she snapped towards the noise, and finally saw a single blue eye focusing on her.
"Welcome back, my dear niece...."
"That eye..." she whispered, stumbling back, her breath turning ragged.
"Euron..."
0000
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