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A Loyal Subject

Summary:

This is in the same universe as the original work by the same title "A Loyal Subject", which can be found here: https://winterrose527.tumblr.com/post/175389068350/a-loyal-subject

I decided to make it into a multi-chapter fic, tracing back to when Robb and Myrcella re-meet as a betrothed couple. Unlike many of my other fics, it is not love at first sight.

As I'm sure people will be curious, these are the bullet point events that lead them to this.

- The events of the first book/season are pretty much the same
- Robb never marries Jeyne Westerling/Talisa Maegor, and he does not betray Walder Frey
- Catelyn does free Jaime Lannister and because of this, Robb leaves her 'imprisoned' at a castle belonging to one of the Tully's bannermen, while he is in battle, the Lannister's take a move from his playbook and storm the castle, killing his mother.
- Joffrey was goaded (by Sansa because YAS GIRL) into entering a battle. Robb killed him himself (nobody cried except Cersei) after the death of his mother
- Sansa is married and will not feature prominently in this story, but she is happy and cared for

Everything else will be divulged in time... I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1: The Princess and the King

Chapter Text

Myrcella stood on the balcony of her chambers watching the retinue approach. She had overheard that it wasn’t in fact the entire Northern army, which was resting at Riverrun, but it looked impressive enough to her as it’s train spanned as far as the eye could see. 

 

My husband marches amongst them. 

 

“How many arrive in King’s Landing today, Lord Arys?,” she asked her sworn shield. 

 

“A thousand men, Princess, and a small collection of lords and ladies from the North and the Riverlands,” he answered her.

 

“Are they still lords and ladies?,” she asked him curiously.

 

“Of course, Princess, those titles were given in perpetuity, some as ancient as the houses that carry them,” he said proudly, as though reciting for his Maester. 

 

He was a learned young man of twenty five years, who had perhaps missed his calling towards the Citadel. Bravery and a good family name had robbed that destiny from him, and now he spent his days keeping her safe.

 

“But they were given by the Crown, were they not?,” she asked him, cocking her head to the side, “The southern Crown. If they have declared independence from that Crown, can they still stake claim to them?”

 

He smiled at her but said simply, “I believe the Northern King honours them.”

 

So he honours some things.

 

She nodded at the practicality of it and said, “Yes I suppose it would not do to have men declare and fight for you only to deny them their birthright.”

 

She looked back out over the expanse of Northern soldiers. She knew that there were more men amongst them, from the Riverlands even some from the Stormlands. Soldiers who had left their homes to fight for one Baratheon brother or another, only to lose the men they named king. 

 

They, from this vantage point, did not seem as regimented as the Lannister army. They did not have uniforms, nor did they seem to march in any express order. Yet there was a cohesiveness to them, born, she supposed, from a common purpose. 

 

And regimented or no, they had proved far deadlier than the Lannister army, which was why they now entered her city, the capital of the four kingdoms that remained loyal to the crown, without any opposition in their way. 

 

“Princess are you not ready?,” her Septa cried as she entered her room, “The king will expect to see you in the throne room.”

 

“Which one?,” she asked. 

 

“Both of them, now hurry or your mother will have my head above the city’s gates!”

 

You’d be in good company.

 

***

 

He should have been relieved to get out of the relentless Southern sun. He and his men were drenched through their clothes, which were road weary to begin with, but the throne room of the Red Keep was not designed to inspire comfort. 

 

This is where Father was betrayed. 

 

He found himself wishing he had insisted on a larger retinue, but as it stood, only fifty men entered the throne room with him, the others stationed outside the castle's gates. He at least had Grey Wind by his side. He would not make that mistake again. 

 

"You stand before Tommen Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the...four kingdoms Protector of the Realm," a servant shouted, his voice reverberating off of the stone walls.

 

A few of his men had tittered at the hesitation at four kingdoms. He wouldn't have been surprised if even days before he had still been named Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, but he could not be so named now, as he sat before the King of the North and the Trident. To claim himself as such would have been a declaration of war.

 

He nodded at Martin Karstark who cleared his voice and said, "Robb Stark, first of his name, King of the North and the Trident."

 

"Brother," the boy king said as he stood. The lioness looked like she wanted to tuck him back beneath her skirts but she settled for a mammoth of a guard to follow him as he walked down the steps. "Welcome to King's Landing, Your Grace, while you are in my capital you have my protection and I hope when you leave, I will have your friendship."

 

It was obvious he had been rehearsing that speech, pretending at an easy grace that he did not possess naturally. His words were kind though and so was the little boy Robb remembered, the little boy this king had once been. Grey Wind did not startle at his side, even though the little boy was no longer, which reassured Robb some.

 

Though war and a crown have robbed men of kindness before. 

 

He couldn't call him brother, not when it was Tommen's actual brother who had ordered his father's death, who had beaten his sister, not when he was the nephew of the man who had crippled Robb's own brother.

 

Still, they had set down their swords for a reason. Now was the time for the exaggerations of diplomacy.

 

"That is my dearest hope, your grace, and my profound purpose for being here, I thank you for your welcome," he said with a bow of his head.

 

Tommen smiled, looking relieved but he didn't seem to know how best to proceed. Robb offered him his arm and the young king looked down at it in confusion, then back up at him for guidance.

 

He's young, if we can rid him of his mother's influence he may be an ally yet.

 

Robb nodded slightly at him, looking down at Tommen's own arm that rested at his side. It was subtle so that no one amassed would notice, it would not do well to embarrass him now. Tommen offered his arm as well and Robb wrapped his hand around his forearm first, encouraging Tommen to do the same. 

 

Tommen let out an excited little sigh, and for a moment he was the little boy who sparred with Bran in the tiltyard with wooden swords. For a moment he wasn't a Lannister king but a Baratheon prince.

 

The crowd clapped quietly, and he knew they were all wondering how long the peace would last. If it would last long enough to get through winter, to rebuild their armies and their castles. Long enough to reestablish law and order.

 

There was a commotion at the back of the throne room and he turned to his right to see lords and ladies dropping into bows and curtsies. 

 

"Sister," Tommen said, and if it hadn't been evident that Tommen was playing at comfort with him already, it would have been now as Robb heard what it really sounded like. He gave the newcomer a rueful smile and said, "You're late."

 

"My deepest apologies, your grace," the girl said and dropped down into an elegant and reverent curtsy.

 

Tommen took her hand in his and made her stand up. He didn't let her go though and threaded her arm through his. Have they passed their perversions onto their children? he wondered.

 

The King and Princess could be twins just like their parents. Myrcella, though a head shorter, had a more commanding presence than her younger brother, but they shared their golden hair and green eyes, their aristocratic symmetrical faces and slender forms. He tried to find traces of the young girl that he’d escorted into the feast at Winterfell, but she looked far more like her mother than she had then.

 

"Save your apologies for your betrothed," Tommen teased, and she looked at him for the first time.

 

If her brother had seemed overeager, excited, she was staid and cool. Her green eyes appraised him as though she found him wanting, but her courtesies took control and she fell once again into a deep curtsy, bowing her head. 

 

"Rise Princess," he said. 

 

He didn't hold his hand out for her, which Sansa would have told him was his second mistake. The first of course was not bowing to her first. He was, after all, in her capital city. 

 

She rose as though she had not expected him to offer his hand anyway and settled herself back with her brother, looping her arm once again through his and robbing him of the chance to kiss the back of her hand. 

 

She will prove me the Northern Barbarian they all believe me to be, he thought in annoyance, though truly, he should not have hesitated. 

 

"Welcome to King's Landing, Your Grace," she said, with all of the outward courtesy but none of the inner warmth of her brother. 

 

"Thank you. You are as fair as your capital, Princess," he said. 

 

The Lannisters were vain, prideful creatures. He thought to compliment her and her city all at once. 

 

"Thank you, Your Grace. I'm sure you meant that as a compliment so I will take it as such."

 

"O-of course I did...," he said.

 

He thought back to the ride through the city. It had been filled with the unwashed masses, starving and sullen. It smelled like hot death and not even Winterfell's sewers smelled as foul as the streets. 

 

He realised his error. Not in what he'd said exactly, but in assuming she would not know the truth of it. This Lannister Princess was the spitting image of her mother, but as she appraised him with her cool green eyes, he wondered if she did not share more with her grandfather. 

 

He had underestimated a Lannister once before and his mother had lost her life for it. He would not make that mistake again.