The Death of Duty

Summary: After one slight too many from the Lannisters at King's Landing, Dorne broke their allegiance and joined forces with the Northern army, sealing their bond by giving the King in the North, Robb Stark, Cersei's only daughter, Myrcella, to do with as he pleases. But as they are thrust together, and as the war brings more threats to their lives with each day that passes, will both wolf and lioness find love together, the death of duty?

Disclaimer: I do not own the wonderful world of Game of Thrones. I wish I did, but I don't.

Chapter One

The beating sun of the Dornish capital shone down on the whole of the city. However, though the warmth was not overpowering on this particularly day, and had been softened by a breeze that oft occurred at this height, Princess Myrcella found that it offered no comfort to her, not through the bars of her cell.

Though the Martells, the family that ruled over this beautiful city and the country beyond, had professed to King's Landing that she was to be a guest, she resided in the highest room of the Spear Tower. The room was comfortable enough, the view was truly stunning, and she wanted for neither food nor clothing, but the bars covering her window reminded her of just what she was. A prisoner.

She had been sent to Dorne by her mother's youngest brother, Tyrion, as insurance of their allegiance to King Joffrey and the Lannister army, and it was only a day or two of correspondence by raven before she had been spirited away to the very south of the Seven Kingdoms. She had bitten her lip until they had sailed out of sight of the crowd gathered on the beach, knowing that her mother would not want her to cry. The woman's words echoed in her mind even now. You are a lion, my love, and lions must always be strong.

Tommen had cried. She had seen the tears streaking down his cheeks, even from the distance she was at. She had always been the one to comfort her younger brother when he cried, and it tore at her heartstrings to see him so upset. But, for the first time in her life, she had not gone to him. She had simply turned her head to the side and hoped for good wind so that she would not have to look at him for as long.

She missed her brother dearly. Tommen was certainly the one she missed the most out of her family, followed quickly by her mother and her uncle Tyrion, even though he had been the one to ship her off to Dorne. She could not say that she would miss Joffrey in the least, though. They had always hated each other; he resented that she had taken his mother's attention from him for a time when she was first born, and she hated the way he treated those he considered to be beneath him. 'There could not have been a worse choice for king than Joffrey.' she thought, resenting the fact that Joffrey had been born before Tommen. Her younger brother would have been a better king, in her opinion, even now, at the tender age of eight.

Myrcella sank down onto her cot, wishing madly for a book or for a cyvasse board. The only form of entertainment she had been given was two books of religious instruction, The Seven-Pointed Star and The Book of Holy Prayer, both of which she had read from cover to cover within three days of arriving. Most of all, she wished for a companion to speak to, just for an hour or two, to stop herself from going mad.

On occasion, she had listened to her late father speaking of important executions to take place, often choosing to discuss them at the dinner table. Her mother had always chastised him, professing that such topics were not to be discussed in the presence of young children, but he had never listened. 'Father never listened to Mother, yet she never stopped telling him off. Perhaps she thought that one day she'd get through.' Still, the memories remained, as well as the memories of herself as a little girl, wondering why the men and women looked so sad as they made their way up to the Sept of Baelor from the dungeons. Now, she knew exactly how they had felt, waiting for a death they knew was coming, trapped, unable to do anything to stop it.

Suddenly, the sound of voices and approaching footsteps reached her ears. Myrcella leapt to her feet, unsure whether she was fearful or excited at the thought of finally having someone else to talk to, for she doubted that it would be a visit for social purposes.

The key rattled loudly in the lock and the door seemed to roar like a wild beast as it creaked open. 'Perhaps it just seems so loud because I've been in silence for so long.' she reasoned. 'Or perhaps it is my mind telling me that something is about to go very wrong.'

Heels clacked noisily on the stone floor as Arianne Martell entered the room. In spite of herself, Myrcella looked down at the floor, forgetting that she was a royal princess and Arianne only a Dornish one. The older woman had a way of making anyone feel inferior, for she was such a wonderful person that she seemed to glow. If they had sent her as a messenger, then something was truly wrong.

"Princess Arianne." she greeted politely, trying to sound confident, though the shaking of her voice gave her away. "Has something happened?"

"Myrcella." she greeted in return and Myrcella frowned. She was rarely addressed by her given name, especially not by strangers. "I'm afraid I've something to tell you. It may be a pleasant change for you or it may not, but this is how it shall be. And I'm sorry. Truly, I am."

Myrcella frowned, clasping her shaking hands together, and drew in a deep breath, preparing herself for what was to come. Even at her tender age, she had known enough loss to know when she was being sacrificed.

A/N: In this story, Myrcella has been aged up to around the same age as Sansa. This is because of later storylines, which would be inappropriate for a younger girl. Please review!