A Young Girl's Game of Thrones by Failninjaninja

I was relieved the Stark heir had surrendered for more than one reason. Once he and the others had laid down their arms, I briefly questioned Robb regarding the reason. He was wary about something, but I didn't have time to try to pry it out of him. The city was still under attack, and more than anything else, I needed to know what the hell had happened while I was recovering from my brush with death.

First, though, I had to check on my little brother.

"Are you well?"

Tommen looked at me with the same wide eyes he'd had during the prior battles while reaching here. He gave a hesitant nod.

"I know it is a bit messy, but I'm going to touch you briefly."

Tommen nodded, still seemingly in shock. I smeared some of the blood from my knife on his chest and on the hilt of the sword he had.

"There, now if anyone asks if you are well, compliment your guardians. If they question the blood, demure from any explanation. People like the idea of a warrior King."

"But… I didn't fight."

"Yes, but they will think you have. And by not providing details, you let their minds build up your heroics far beyond any falsehood your lips could speak."

Tommen looked ready to object, but looked at me again and then simply nodded. I moved past him toward the Red Keep proper. I asked for information and to be led to my grandfather. Fortunately, my time abed had not been too excessive, but somehow the city seemed nearly lost within the first day of battle. That was unacceptable.

However, I could not blame the defenders when I learned just what all had happened. The betrayal at the gates was bad, and somehow our wildfire surprises had been tampered with. That made me nervous, because there were few things that could outright kill me with my magic up and running. Had the battle gone worse, as a last resort, I could simply leap over walls and fall safely. An explosion to the face with wildfire would kill me, just as it would anyone else.

Then learning that somehow the enemy had found their way into the interior of the Red Keep? After some quick questioning, we eliminated many potential avenues the enemy could have come from. I ordered a sweep of the Lower Bailey and the White Sword Tower. Now that people knew to look for potential secret entrances, they could hopefully uncover them.

That done, I went to see my grandfather. He was in the outer yard next to the walls of the Red Keep. He was not a man for expressive facial expressions, but one look at me and his eyes grew wide. He looked past me toward Ser Arys and Tommen and frowned.

"I see you are awake, and the King is alive. Good. Are you injured?"

I was injured in a few ways. My right hand had a broken finger, and abrasions from slamming a dagger with more force than would normally be possible through armor. If the fight had gone on longer, I would have switched hands, as with my reflexive enchantment, I was effectively ambidextrous. I also had a heel contusion from when I had kicked an opponent with extreme force. I greatly preferred fighting with throwing daggers over getting mixed up in melee. My speed and force were increased with single direction vectors, but trying to put up a body enhancement formula along with everything else was simply beyond me. The lack of a computation orb made me less than half the mage I used to be in my second life.

"Only minorly. I've heard there have been difficulties – have my Stormguard come in to report?"

"Your timing is impeccable, Lady Baratheon," Tywin replied. "I have just opened the gates for some of them to come in. It seems your uncle has sounded the retreat."

That was good. Even now I saw one of my new Stormguard, Bronn, walking up along with Ser Lum and an old man in simple clothing. The old man held a wiry strength, and his mud-brown eyes were alight with life.

"Lady Myrcella! I knew you would awake," Lum spoke first.

"It is good to see you are well. Report, what has happened out there?"

Lum explained how the fighting was going. Ser Brienne was still out there, but had driven the enemy back in her area around the Lion Gate. He also spoke of gathering the smallfolk around the Great Sept and bringing them here to break the siege of the Red Keep.

"The smallfolk? They would be poorly armored and armed. The casualties must have been catastrophic." I couldn't prevent a note of horror from entering my voice. Lum led thousands of people to their death in my name. This could be disastrous.

"The Mother thinks first upon her children," the old man spoke, and I glanced his way. Was he a septon? His attire didn't suggest he was.

Before I could ask questions about him, Lum spoke up again, "I am sorry if I erred, my lady, but we had lost too many men to contest them."

"The enemy is in retreat, ser, and you decided in the heat of battle. We will discuss it more later. For now, let us see how far they intend to retreat. I will go out personally and determine if the walls can still be held or if the gates have been too greatly damaged."

"The Smith knows the strengths of every object."

He was quoting the Seven-Pointed Star. I didn't have time to deal with fanatics, but I couldn't just let him ramble on.

"I do not know your name – who are you?"

"I would liken myself to a sparrow, as my name is unimportant."

"No, you are important. Every man, woman, and child is a… contributor." I was weary, I responded with pure reflex. Only barely stopping myself from saying human resource.

"The Father sees all, and judges all; none are above or below his gaze," the self-anointed "sparrow" replied.

"You can quote the Seven-Pointed Star with keen memory – I congratulate you on your studies, for those were exact quotes; however, I do have to go about my duties. Is there some reason you have accompanied my men?"

"The Crone holds the knowledge of the faith and shines her lamp to light the way for others." His voice held a sort of reverence that was beginning to make me want to grind my teeth.

I drew my dagger, drying blood still congealed on the blade. "Listen, we are at war, I have no time." I turned to Lum, "Why have you brought him?"

"The Warrior is the embodiment of all martial might."

Lum eyed him before turning his gaze to me. "He was giving a sermon when I came to the Great Sept. The faithful listen to him; without his help, the smallfolk may not have rallied."

Tywin looked on with interest. What was my grandfather thinking? It wasn't like him to abide by fools and fanatics. Still, the notion that this man was a leader of the great masses of King's Landing meant I couldn't just have him escorted away.

"Thank you for your assistance, sparrow. I have a city to see to, but first I should address the people who helped break this siege. Can you gather what remains of them?"

He nodded and moved away. I turned to my grandfather. "I will keep you posted on what I learn from the city. I am going to disperse the smallfolk; while they may have won a victory here, it is unreliable to use them. The plan to leave the city should still happen. I trust all preparations are still in place?"

"They are, Myrcella. I also wish to give you something. I had intended to do so earlier, but certain events occurred too quickly."

He gave me a gift that brought a smile to my face: a Valyrian steel dagger. I thanked him and then went to address the smallfolk. They were massed beneath the walls of the Red Keep, as far as the eye could see. Even with thousands of dead, their numbers seemed endless.

"Today you have proven your loyalty, to your faith, to your city, to your King!" I held up my bloodied knife. "THANK YOU!"

A roar greeted me. A cacophony of noise that seemed to shake the city.

"I am sorry that you were ever put in this position. Many have fallen, but many of you are still alive. You are alive for a reason; this is not your time to die. Return to your homes. I refuse to turn King's Landing into more of a charnel house than it already is. I will lead the enemy armies away from the city. For a time, you will be ruled by usurpers, but it will be temporary."

I couldn't quite hear what the sparrow fellow said amongst the crowd. Something about the Stranger, but he seemed quite animated. Hopefully it wasn't to call me a blasphemer for abandoning the city.

"Listen well. Your King will return! The Lord Regent will return! I SHALL RETURN! Keep the faith," I cringed internally, "until then." I hated myself, but I concluded with, "May the Seven watch over you, until we return."

I don't know what it was. I suspect having done something so insanely foolish, and somehow living through it, had given them an adrenaline high. A zest for life that only survival after near-certain death could give. I had felt it myself once or twice on the Rhine and other fronts. Despite my clear intent to retreat and leave them at the mercy of my enemies, they were cheering and praising me. Humans could be so irrational at times.

After long minutes of thunderous adulation, the crowd finally dispersed, and I moved out with Lum, Bronn, and some of grandfather's mounted men. I needed to see exactly what we had left for a fighting force. I also worried greatly about Ser Brienne, Ser Theo, and Perwyn Frey. I had already lost one Stormguard; it would be disastrous if I lost any more.

***

​

Davos was exhausted. The on-and-off again fighting throughout the night and into the morning had drained him. It wasn't as if he had regularly been in the thick of it, but it had been trying all the same. When the order came to abandon the city completely and return to camp, he was dumbfounded and almost delayed until he could get confirmation. But he did hear the horns, and that, along with the messenger, meant it was legitimate.

As he drew near the King's tent, he saw Bran rush out of it, tears in his eyes. His great wolf, Duty, by his side.

"Bran Stark, what is amiss?"

The boy looked at him. "The King is abandoning my father and brother. And it is my fault! I caused this, I failed!"

Davos did not tarry and attempt to console the boy. Instead, he went into the tent and saw his King discussing matters with his other commanders, including Roose Bolton.

"Ser Davos, it is well that you are unharmed," Stannis said simply.

"Your Grace, you have commanded it, and I have come. But I do not understand why. What has happened?"

His King's face was always stern, but now it seemed even harsher. "Much, and none of it good. The enemy has taken Dragonstone; I know not how fares my lady wife. A fleet sails upon King's Landing. The number of vessels does not overmatch us, but 'tis closer than I would like. Lord Merryweather has lied to us and made no faithful effort to assault the walls. We are betrayed."

Davos had known that that was a possibility from their prior discussions, but to lose Dragonstone…

"Your Grace," came the soft voice of Lord Bolton, "it has become plain that we cannot pursue this war. Our losses are beyond staggering. We have no means left to take King's Landing, not with two Tyrell armies nearby. We must retreat, and sue for peace."

"I will be King of the Seven Kingdoms, and if I should fall, my daughter will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I will not stop fighting while there is breath in my body, Bolton."

Imry Florent shook his head. "Bold words, good-brother, but Lord Bolton is right. I fear for my sister, and while we still have a fleet and somewhat of an army, we should try to see what they would offer. We are well into harvest season; it is for the good of all for there to be peace."

"Get out, all of you save for Ser Davos. I will hear no more treasonous talk, or I will start taking tongues."

One by one, the men departed from the tent. Davos stopped his son briefly and asked Devan to check on Bran. Stannis sat down and propped his elbows on the table in front of him, resting his head upon his hands.

"We were so close, Seaworth. So close. Is this realm full of nothing but lickspittles, cowards, incompetents, backbiters, traitors, and monsters?"

"Not all men can meet your standards, Your Grace. I am your man until the end. Give the order, and I will see that it is done. "

"If I had a dozen reliable men like you, I would already sit upon the Iron Throne. But I do not. I had you, Eddard, and Robb. You three were not enough, and this accursed realm lacks any other men of quality."

Davos frowned. "Your Grace, Lord Tully served faithfully, as did…"

"He was loyal, I grant you that, but he was incompetent. Losing Harrenhal! Harrenhal! Enough of this – I am not meant to wallow in pity and count the failings of others when there is work to be done. There is too much still we do not understand. It appears that Willas Tyrell is ambitious and seeks the crown for himself. The question is, has Dorne joined them in treachery like the younger Stark believes?"

"I know not. But if one part is true, I believe it is safe to assume the whole of it is. Ser Oberyn is a bold man, but quick tempered and loose with his tongue. If I were a bettin' man, I would wager that the Martells have betrayed us, but failed to inform him."

"In that case, our course is clear," Stannis said, his voice becoming surer and more resolute. "We will smash the enemy fleet and then make for the Vale of Arryn. News there is mixed, but the army that Ser Barristan defeated was not the full muster, and no report of an outright massacre has reached our ears. Most like, they suffered a few thousand casualties and scattered, but that means the Vale can still reinforce our dwindling manpower."

Davos knew the forces under his own command had taken horrific losses. The mere sight of the Terror of Tarth and her Valyrian steel blade had sent men fleeing. Even outnumbered, her forces had reaped a deadly toll.

"What of the men under Stark and Bolton?"

"Half are lost to us."

"Half?" Davos was incredulous at the number. How could so many have fallen?

"More or less; the retreat was disorganized. Oberyn, Glover, and Robb all attempted to infiltrate the Red Keep and Maegor's Holdfast. The smallfolk of the city rose up and tore many to pieces, and there were already heavy casualties in the street fighting. Perhaps more will still make their way back. Perhaps."

By the sound of the liege's tone, he did not hold out much hope.

"Gather the men, Ser Davos. Have them ready for a fight at sea. This 'Lannister Fleet' will soon learn that my time as Master of Ships was not in vain."

"Your Grace." Davos bowed his head. He was exhausted, but he would see to his orders.

***

​

Jon Snow was not sure what to make of the newcomers. The news they brought had troubled the Lord Commander greatly. Craster had been slain upon the order of the woman all in red. He had been a foul man, but had also been a friend of the Watch. Of sorts. Bringing Caster's wives and a pair of children was also disconcerting.

As for the priestess herself, she was taller than Jon was, and dressed completely inappropriately for the cold. Especially this far north. And yet, the frigid air never seemed to bother her. She was also beautiful, and lust for her was on the minds of many men. The cut of her dress and her open cloak displayed the healthy amount of bosom she possessed for all to see.

Jon knew more than most about her, thanks to his position as the personal steward of the Lord Commander. The old man confided in him that she did have power. A power that scared him, a power that let her know things that she could not possibly know. She had told the Night's Watch that the dead were rising in service of the 'Great Enemy' and that, if the Night's Watch did not prepare for an attack, within a weeks' time they would be overrun.

Jon recalled the Old Bear's words. "Maybe she is full of shit, but a week's time will not change our course. She knows of what Mance Rayder seeks, and what his plans are. If she can predict the attack of the dead… it will be wise to listen to her."

This had changed the commander's original plan of having Qhorin and other scouting parties out while the rest of the great ranging fortified the Fist of the First Men. Qhorin had disagreed vehemently with Mormont, at least in private, but there was no moving the commander.

Much of the men's current efforts was spent on collecting anything that could be used to forge a flame. Great stacks of wood had been gathered, for fire was the chief weapon against the dead – or so Lady Melisandre stated. Jon didn't know what to think, but he knew that Ghost was wary of the woman. The wolf never made a sound, but his hackles would rise, and a taut tension would fill Jon's body whenever she was near.

"What do you think of her, Sam?" Jon asked his friend one night.

"She worships a God from Essos named R'hllor. I've only read a bit about those people, but they are very keen about fire. I believe they think it is holy."

"Fire is not holy in or of itself, Samwell Tarly, but it is the favored way the Lord of Light speaks with his flock. You creating a campfire does not make you a follower of R'hllor."

Sam nearly fell over, and Jon stiffened. They had not heard Melisandre's approach, nor had she her usual guards with her.

"My lady, you caught us off guard. We meant no offense." Jon hesitated. "Is it wise for you to be about without your protectors?"

Her laughter was low and did not carry on the wind. "My Lord protects me; I have nothing to fear from your brothers, no matter their desires."

Jon flushed. It was an awkward thing to discuss, especially given his own attraction to her.

"Tarly, I would speak with Jon alone for a time; can you give us some privacy?"

"Uhhh, ahh, well," Sam stuttered, and looked at Jon. Jon waved him off, and the boy bowed his head to Melisandre and walked off toward another campfire.

"What do you wish to speak with me about?" Jon's tongue felt thick in his mouth.

"Jon, the battle will take place within the next two days. I am certain that you will survive, for I have seen a great destiny for you."

Jon's mind was awhirl. He knew he was being groomed for leadership within the Night's Watch. Was that what Melisandre was referring to?"

"I am glad that I will survive. I don't know about destiny, but what do you see?"

"I see you wielding a sword of fire, though I suspect that particular vision is metaphorical. You wield dragon flame in metallic form, – the blade is Valyrian steel, is it not?"

"Yes, the Lord Commander gave it to me."

"A gift fit for a King. Valyrian steel is priceless."

"I know. I hope to prove worthy of it," Jon answered.

"You will. I have seen it. What I am about to tell you is something that I would ask you to keep secret until the time is ripe. Can you do that?" She leaned in close, and Jon felt heat coming from her body.

"I… I don't know. If you tell me something that would put my brothers in danger, I would be honor-bound to share that information."

"The loyalty you have for your comrades speaks to your noble qualities. I see no direct danger to your brothers, but I will allow you to judge that for yourself. Jon Snow, you are misnamed. I know who your mother is."

Jon's heart skipped a beat. The one piece of information his father had never given him. He wanted to know badly, more than almost anything else he desired to know that. Did she know? Was she being honest? How could he even discern it?

"H-how?" Jon finally spoke, his voice coming out as a croak.

"I spoke with Eddard Stark. He tried to keep it hidden from me, but R'hllor has given me the ability to uncover all secrets."

"You spoke with my father? How is he? I know but a little about the war that is being fought. Do you have news of my brothers?"

"When I last saw Eddard Stark, he was well. But I must correct you – Eddard Stark is not your father."

Jon shook his head in disappointment.

So she doesn't know anything after all.

"The man who claimed to be your father lied to you, to everyone, to protect you. Your mother was Lyanna Stark, his sister."

"WHAT?" Jon gave a cry of disbelief.

If Lyanna was my mother… and father is not my father, the only person who it could be would be…

His eyes widened and Melisandre nodded. "You have a sharp mind about you, Jon Targaryen; you immediately put the pieces together. I suspect, given the late King's hatred for the Targaryen line, Lord Stark feared to reveal the truth of your parentage. He sacrificed his honor to ensure that you would live, but he also caged you in ignorance. You swore vows to the Night's Watch, never knowing that you were the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms."

Jon didn't know what to think. All his life, he had been raised as the illegitimate son of Lord Eddard Stark. He didn't want to believe it, but another part of him saw that it made sense. His father… or maybe uncle, had taught him the importance of honor. Would a man like that shame his wife? All knew that Rhaegar had abducted his aunt… or maybe mother, and for what purpose would the abduction have taken place if not for the Targaryen Prince's lust?

"If what you say is true, I'd still be a bastard. One born even more cursed and misbegotten."

The beautiful woman shook her head. She put a hand on his shoulder; even through layers of clothing, he could feel the heat from her hand.

"No, Jon. I have seen in the flames, the past. I can see through stone and earth. I can speak to Kings long dead and children not yet born. The power of R'hllor is beyond mortal comprehension. But I have seen the truth; – the Lord of Light has revealed that you are not the product of base desire. Rhaegar believed in a prophecy, one that required the union of the lines of Ice and Fire. A union between the Kings of Winter, and the House of the Dragon. Your mother and father were wed in secret; you are no bastard, but instead the rightful King of Westeros."

Jon was dizzy with the implications. His breath was heavy, and he felt Ghost brush up against him. Ghost was now in between him and Melisandre. The tall woman in red took a half-step back, and Jon exhaled slowly. This was too much all at once. He shook his head, clearing the dizziness away.

"I… I need to think, my lady. Please excuse me."

"Of course, Jon. Just remember, the night is dark and full of terrors, but you can be the one to save Westeros, and all the world from the Great Enemy. We will speak more after the battle."

Jon stumbled away. Ghost padded beside him. He had much to think of, and he doubted he would get any rest that night.

***

​

Brienne had praised the Seven when she learned that Myrcella had awoken and was safe. Her worry and fear for her charge was what had sustained her through the battle. Incredibly enough, despite the near-constant fighting and sheer exhaustion that pervaded her entire body, she had nothing but minor injuries.

Sadly, the rest of the Stormguard were not as lucky. Ser Lyle Crakehall had died in defense of the King. It was an honorable death, but it hurt. Brienne was in command of the Stormguard, with Ser Barristan still with the larger portion of their host. It was under her command that Ser Lyle fell.

Bronn seemed to have weathered the battles without significant injury, though his armor looked a mess. Was he just that good? Or had he avoided the heaviest of the fighting? However, Ser Lum vouched for him, including how Bronn had saved his life. Ser Theo had been badly injured. A broken jaw, a deep cut to his leg, and a broken arm were the most serious of his wounds. They thought he would live if none of his wounds festered, but he would not be fighting for some time.

Ser Perwyn Frey had also suffered some injuries. His helm had been dented, and head wounds could be dangerous, but he was conscious and speaking well. The Frey knight had some bruising, but his armor had kept him safe from anything worse. Ser Lum had several injuries, but none of them serious.

The next day was one of confusion, though Brienne had been able to get a few hours of sleep. Stannis seemed to have withdrawn the force that had come through the gates completely. The northern part of the encirclement of the city, led by Tyrell soldiers, had only made half-hearted attempts during the battle. Myrcella was personally baffled and annoyed at not understanding what exactly the enemy was planning or what had caused the retreat.

Lady Myrcella had also been wounded. She walked with a slight limp and had a splint on her finger. Other fingers were bruised as well – strange wounds, but she shrugged them off as non-consequential. Brienne heard from others that her liege had reaped a bloody toll on the enemy. Men spoke in hushed whispers on how the Warrior himself had stridden the halls of Maegor's Holdfast using Myrcella as his vessel.

With still no sign of an attack, some of the commanders thought that perhaps King's Landing could still be held. Lady Myrcella vehemently disagreed, and her grandfather, the King's Regent, had agreed with her. The plan to leave was still in place. When that time came, Brienne figured the city's mood would be sour. Instead, their path was lined with citizens cheering and proclaiming their allegiance to the Seven and Myrcella.

Brienne was riding next to Lady Myrcella, and, with much time spent with her, had picked up her moods and mannerisms. Myrcella had a fixed smile upon her face as she waved to the crowds, but Brienne knew that she was deeply uncomfortable.

"Are you well? Is your finger bothering you?"

"No, 'tis the crowd. They build me up too greatly. But that reverence can be easily turned to hate when I do not meet their expectations. There's an old tale from Essos about a young woman who led her people to a great victory; all seemed to view her with favor. Yet she ended up burned alive at the stake."

"I would never let them!" Brienne proclaimed.

Myrcella's smile shifted into a more genuine one. "You are a worthy knight, but I will remain ill at ease so long as they act like… this." She gestured to the crowd, screaming their adulation.

Once out of the city, they took the Gold Road. Lady Myrcella was still bewildered that the Tyrell host was not even attempting to bar their path or even harass them. Nothing was making sense. After half a day on the Gold Road, they moved north. Ser Lum was sent out with Bronn and their outriders to give ample warning if anything changed.

It did not.

Only when they were once again on the King's Road and had linked up with the full might of Ser Barristan's host did they relax. A meeting was held with Tywin and Ser Barristan to discuss their next moves.

"The host is ready to fight, my lady," Ser Barristan spoke bluntly.

"That may be," Myrcella began, "but we know not why my uncle retreated or the cause for the strange behavior of the Tyrell host. We do know that the Tyrells camped outside of the city are a sizeable force. And Garlan Tyrell is marching along the Gold Road with an even larger one. Their combined total will outnumber us. We know Dorne moves as well with their strength. We could seek to defeat each of those three armies in detail, but this is extremely risky in my view."

"Instead of fighting here, what do you propose?" Lord Tywin asked.

"Retreat to Harrenhal. From there we see what our foe does. If they come after us, we will bleed them dry; I'll do it personally. Secondly, we need to see if we can get the North to quit the field. We have their liege lord and their heir. I'll continue to work on them and see if I can obtain their agreement for a peace, but even if I cannot – whoever commands their hosts may agree to a withdrawal north of the neck in exchange for one or both. With winter coming, once they are back home in the North, I do not believe they will trouble us in the medium-term. Third, we see to ensuring the Westerlands is back on its feet and hardened against any attempt by the Tyrells or the Ironborn to re-savage it."

"What of the Stormlands?" Ser Barristan asked.

"Sadly, there is little I can do for it now. Ser Cortnay Penrose has men and provisions to hold Storm's End. Other keeps and fortresses must attempt to do the same, but I will write to them and encourage their surrender if they do not have the resources to withstand a siege. Our goal will be to destroy their field army when they come for us. The Reach is the breadbasket of Westeros, but the Riverlands is also incredibly fertile. The war will not be over quickly; this is a marathon and not a sprint."

Brienne saw Barristan nod in agreement. Tywin though looked thoughtful.

"What of the Vale? You won a great victory; can we complete it?"

Myrcella nodded. "The Eyrie is unlikely to fall, but that is not important. I imagine the Arryn line is held in ill-esteem currently. If Stannis is foolish enough to give us breathing room and does not pursue us in force here in the Riverlands or in the Westerlands, we will have the freedom to bring the Vale to heel. Unfortunately, our next moves must be reactive."

"I see nothing in error with your plan, Lady Myrcella," Tywin spoke. "I approve of it, and we will carry it out."

Brienne thought Tywin wise to just go along with what her lady suggested. The reality was that Myrcella did naught but win victory after victory. She wondered, if Tywin ever did challenge her plans, what would happen?