Chapter II

Myrcella I

She was gripping the reins of her snow white mere with such force that she doesn't have anything to compare with in all her years of riding one. Thanks to Uncle Jamie Myrcella started her horse riding lessons very early for any girl and inexplicably early for a royal female.

But she was thankful for that. And for other lessons he bestowed on her. She has always been close with her uncle, both her uncles really. But where she shared just a tender association with Tyrion (a kiss on a cheek, a story from him once in a while, a smile she always had in store for the Imp), her bond with her other uncle was much stronger.

He didn't have as much time for her as she would like, he was in Kingsguard after all, awarded veteran; when he wasn't, her grandfather always found business for Jamie as well. Though their time was limited her mother's twin silently and without any permission from her parents took it upon himself to teach her things that were usually out of reach for young female royals…or forbidden at all: how to ride a horse, how to defend herself, some tricks she wasn't sure she'd ever need.

Myrcella was always a neat scholar. First because she needed the knowledge to use for her own and Tommen's protection against Joffrey who has become obnoxiously difficult to be in the same room with ever since she reached nine years of age. As time passed he'd became more and more cruel to his younger siblings not to mention other human beings. She assumed Uncle Jamie knew that too.

But it wasn't the only reason why she took in everything Uncle Jamie taught her. When she was very young Myrcella found that she deferred a lot from the other girls, as the time passed ladies, of Red Keep, and most likely South in general. She wasn't interested in new dress designs, gems her Queen Mother adored, shallow talk of the Court. She had to adapt and excel at that nonetheless but she didn't have to love it. Myrcella craved knowledge and adventure. All those sneaked out books from the Grand Library of Red Keep. At nights when everybody was sleeping and she slipped in one of her huge armchairs, under the light of a lone candle, the stories took her away East, across the Narrow Sea, to the mystery lands of Essos with it's great cultures still ultimately unknown to Westeros; or the most South she could imagine, Dorne, where Warrior Princess Nymeria once found her home, where men and women are taught that they are equals; sometimes they take her far North, where life's harder but simpler, where honer and truth is the keep of values and not gold or the ability to play the game.

Those nights she would dream of sailing far away from the lands she called her home. She would take to the open waters. Smoking Sea, Sea of Dorne, she was daring to imaging even the Shivering Sea that crushed its waves at one side of Essos, so far away and dangerous that no man or woman were heard of ever taking their direction there. But in her dreams she would. If needed she would call upon her cousin Sheanah who was only slightly older than her, a prodigy firstborn daughter of her Uncle Stannis, who was a genius navigator. Together they would take her marvellous ship, Storm's Fury, and go where no one else would, not even the Krakens.

But the day always broke the night and Myrcella had to put on one of her puffy pink dresses, let her maids fuss around her, doing her hair and almost spoon-feeding her berries and milk like she was a babe, be a nice little Princess during her royal lessons with the Septa, prey to the Seven, and endure the hostility of her older brother to prevent his lashing out on their younger brother. Sometimes he was less cruel and the tournament simply ended with his harsh words. Other times she was more stupid and let her thoughts out of her mouth right to his face. Joffrey hated when anyone answered him, or, Gods forbid, corrected him. Thats when he used force. And he for being all vile and heinous to other people, has always been engrossed in weapons, the one thing he truly cherished and was interested in. The weapons in his arsenal changed according to periods of time. A time of a whip Myrcella rememberers all too vividly. There are long faded scars of her back that are ready to testify to that. But not her face. Joffrey was always hysterical and cruel and not smart but he wasn't pain idiot. Do not worry, Sunshine, no one will know, we'll never let that pretty face of yours get marred, we're still gonna need to marry you off somewhere politically fruitful. But as long as you have that flawless face and your purity it will not be hard at all!

But she still would never go to her Lord Father or Uncle Jamie, lions never do that. They do not crawl, and cry to anybody. Lions do not falter. And though there was a Crowned Stag on their Banners she feels in her heart that she is a Lion, she knows it with her soul.

But that was fine, physical never worried Myrcella too much. After a time she realised that that kind of abuse would never get Joffrey the results he was lusting after: she would not break, not by his hand. What scared her the most was that the little shit saw it too and that's when he jumped to tormenting Tommen because that would get to his sister the most.

And then that fanatic was given the power. Their Lord Father, Robert I Baratheon, the King of Seven Kingdoms and the Protector of the Realm, the only one who could restrain his clearly over-cruel firstborn with only a look, was gone.

Joffrey put the crown on his own head first thing in the morning before they could so much as weep for their dead father.

The days that followed reminded Myrcella of hell. The tyrant on the Iron Throne with their Mother, now Queen Regant, as his most loyal subject and counsellor (not that the new King ever listened to anyone). Even Grandfather Tywin and Uncle Tyrion though hating each other furiously were giving each other doomed glares. The Boy King drowning himself in southern wine during his coronation celebration days, taking countless ladies to his chambers that were brought out of there in some hours, dead, with awful signature arrows sticking out of their lifeless bodies.

And then one day he ordered to imprison Lord Stark who has been fiercely loyal to her Father serving as the Hand of the King for the last year. For Treason.

Suddenly Myrcella knew that she couldn't wait any longer, no more silence. This time she would not go speechless. Too much on the scales: Tommen, Sansa (another victim of a Monster), all those killed girls (each not older than four and ten, each somebody's daughter, sister, friend), her people…the people that her ruling family gave an oath to protect and serve….

So, knowing what she knew, what she gathered through all those years existing in the Red Keep, she told Ser Arys, her Sworn Shield, the man who's never backed away from a promise and the most loyal Kingsguard she's ever known, that she'd be with her Queen Mother the whole day and he wouldn't be needed, and made him promise he'd be with Tommen, protecting him, until the next time she puts her eyes on him. Ser Arys Oakheart, being the noble knight that he was, never saw a deceit as he was tricked to be with the young Prince until her return.

She skipped from the Castle unnoticed, it wasn't that hard when you know your way around. All works like a clock. When she was but a small child of six or seven she's heard her Grandfather tell Uncle Jamie as they were both paying more attention to a map on the table than the little lioness at their feet that Routine is the biggest enemy. It depended on a point of view, she decided. Routine was her friend in her deception.

Hood up she made it into the always erupting busy city. Long time ago she found a map of King's Landing and was enamoured by it for days to an end. She could find her way around it blindfolded. Myrcella had no trouble getting to the spot where she was suppose to meet the Devil, that's what she called the man she's called upon for help, she knew it was a deal with the Devil but unfortunately she did not have a choice in that matter.

Right at the gates to the city, waiting for her, holding the reins of a beautiful white horse, Petyr Baelish stood tall in his greys and blacks with a small mockingbird at his collar.

"Hope you realise, Your Highness, that if somebody to find out I was involved, the King will have my head."

"It's the silence that I'm seeking in you, Lord Baelish." Myrcella said in a soft voice with only a hint of authority, excepting his hand to help get her on a horse. "You haven't seen me today at all, in return no one will ever known who helped me. And…I will be in your debt."

He gave her a surprised look as if he never expected her to be the one he'd be having a conversation like that with.

"Until I see you next, then, My Princess."

"I expect, you'll be on a winning side, Lord Baelish," She replied calmly, though adrenaline was still flying through her veins as she followed her plan to the end. Then Myrcella added. "No matter which side that is."

"I'm a practical man, Princess." His smile was devilish, and his little grey eyes were happily plummeting her face, as if he's found himself a new source of entertainment and a new toy all in one.

"I'll make sure to remember that." She smiled and turned her horse away from King's landing, facing North.

Next moment she was gone, leaving a smirking Master of Coin watching the Southern Princess on a white mare disappear. He never did expect the only royal daughter to become more than a pawn or a bargaining cheap in this delicious game he praised himself of being so good at. But she definitely had the disposition to become a prominent player, even a strong one but he wouldn't go so far as to predict it yet…not yet. But he would grant the anonymity the Princess wished, he would not utter a word to anyone. They would all find her gone soon enough. Thus she would still be in his dept.

"Myrcella Baratheon….who knew." He squashed pebbles with his heel as he turned to go back to the Castle and sent a final glance behind his back as if to make sure that the golden haired woman was no vision. She was no longer in his line of sight. "Who knew…"