Looking around as they descended from the ship, Myrcella gasped at the sight of the falling snow.
She had never seen snow before.
It fell now in a slow, unhurried drift across the harbor of White Harbor, settling on the rigging of the moored ships and the dark stone of the wharves, and for one moment, she thought it the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
She had been born in the long summer, her mother told her, a summer so long that an entire childhood had passed beneath it without a single flake falling on King’s Landing.
The beauty was then ruined for Myrcella the moment a cold wind rushed past, making her shiver.
It was supposed to be the middle of summer right now, how could anyone live and survive in a northern winter if this was what they called summer?!
The royal party descended from the ship in stages, Myrcella looked past the wharf to the party of twenty waiting to receive them, at whose head stood the Merman Lord.
Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbour was old and so fat she wondered how he could even move.
He knelt before the King, and Myrcella quietly wondered how he would ever get up from that position.
He reminded Myrcella of an oversized barrel, his fat split and visible from his blue-green velvet doublet.
He even had four chins, if such a thing was possible.
His sons, arranged behind him, appeared to have inherited their father’s build, with walrus-like mustaches and bald heads that shone in the midday sun.
The merman granddaughters, at least, resembled neither their father nor their grandfather.
Both were slim, composed, and entirely pleasant to look at, despite the younger one having dyed her hair a garish green colour.
They were all currently kneeled, as was proper to receive the King.
“Rise,” her father said, lacking its usual carrying boom.
Myrcella had spent the last three days watching nearly every member of her family discover that they did not care for the sea.
Only Uncle Jaime and herself had emerged from the voyage unscathed.
Even Uncle Tyrion held himself off the wine the entire crossing, lest he spill them all back out.
She glanced at Joffrey, who was uncharacteristically silent.
He usually would have given a snide comment right about now, either about the city or the Lord’s appearance, but it seems he was still ready to heave over and spill his breakfast, which Myrcella considered a blessing.
She turned her attention to the centre of the square just in time to see the Lord of White Harbour being helped by two burly guardsmen to get up from his kneeling position.
Myrcella glanced sideways at her father who, while not as fat as the Merman Lord, wasn’t quite far off.
She wondered whether he too would require such assistance in years to come.
The wind mercifully settled, and a thin shaft of sun found its way down to warm her face by some small and welcome degree.
Beside her, her mother, wrapped tightly in her crimson velvet cloak, fussed over Tommen’s runny nose with a silken handkerchief.
It quite unnerved Myrcella how much the cold affected their party.
Even the famed Barristan the Bold, her father’s Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, wasn’t spared, shivering as he was in his armour.
A serving man dressed in a sea-green tunic quickly walked over with a platter of bread and salt.
Her kingly father tore a generous piece, dipped it in the salt, and devoured it in one bite.
With guest rights given and accepted, she saw an immediate loosening in tension amongst the Kingsguard and the royal household men-at-arms.
They were, for as long as they remained beneath Manderly roofs, safe by custom older than the Seven Kingdoms themselves.
“Forgive me for asking, Your Grace, but you arrived rather sooner than we expected.” Wyman said, “We didn’t expect you till at least another sennight.” “Caught a headwind in the Bay of Crabs.” Robert grunted out, “Shaved days off the crossing.
Thank the gods for it, I couldn’t have managed another week on that ship.” “Then thank the Seven, for you’ve caught us at an excellent time!” Wyman’s good cheer returned, his four chins flapping as result.
“We’ve a feast prepared for you this very evening, at New Castle!” The mention of a generous serving of food and wine seemed to invigorate her father, and Myrcella watched something in his posture straighten that had been sagging since they’d left the ship.
“Lead on then, Wyman!” The procession began to move, working its way up from the harbor along a street paved in pale stone, and Myrcella took the chance to look properly at the city around her.
She hadn’t been to many places in her short life, having her journeys very limited to King’s Landing, Casterly Rock, and the gold road in between.
White Harbor was…not bad.
The streets near the inner harbor ran wide and straight, paved evenly.
The horrid stench that was ever present in the capital was nowhere to be seen.
Instead, the air here smelled of salt and woodsmoke, clean in a way she had not expected a city to smell.
While White Harbour was bustling, it thankfully lacked the noisy commotion of the royal city.
The buildings were whitewashed stone almost without exception, lending the whole place a scrubbed, orderly appearance that put Lannisport thoroughly to shame.
The crowds that had gathered to see the royal procession were cordoned off the main street by the city;s watch, men in simple arming doublets beneath cloaks dyed the same sea-green as the household livery, a silver merman worked into each surcoat.
They carried round shields and bludgeons, plain weapons for keeping order rather than waging war, while the proper Manderly men-at-arms who flanked Lord Wyman’s own person carried tridents — an odd and oddly fitting choice, she thought, for a house that called itself the Mermen.
To her right, the rest of her family moved in their own loose procession, minus Uncle Tyrion, who had vanished the moment they moored.
He probably had already found his way to the nearest brothel, considering that she couldn’t even see the three Lannister men that were assigned to him.
Uncle Jaime walked with his usual unhurried ease, his gaze lazily wandered around the streets, casting glances towards the crowd and the watchmen in the surroundings.
Next to him, her mother walked with her chin lifted and her gaze sweeping the street with open curiosity, Joffrey and Tommen trailing a step behind.
“It’s hardly as dreary as I feared,” her mother hummed.
“Small, but passable, for a northern city.
Perhaps the rest of the kingdom won’t entirely disgrace itself.” She glanced toward the front of the procession.
“Perhaps you might take the Merman’s elder granddaughter as a handmaid, Myrcella.
A connection to a northern house could prove useful.” Lord Wyman’s laugh rolled out ahead of them, accompanied by a small, regretful bow of his head.
“My apologies, Your Grace.
But Wynafryd has prior arrangements.” Her mother’s brow furrowed as she narrowed her eyes at the supposed denial.
It was a pity, as the grimace made the otherwise beautiful face of Cersei Lannister look rather grotesque.
Cersei did not have the chance to respond before her husband did.
“Hm?
Is that what the joyous smiles have been about?” Robert’s eyebrows had gone up with plain curiosity.
“What ‘arrangements’ could be better than being a handmaid to a princess, Wyman?” “A joyous one, Your Grace, for my eldest granddaughter is to be wed to Karlon Stark’s heir.” Wyman’s smile, already wide, found room to widen further, followed by Wylis Manderly beside him.
Myrcella watched Wynafryd’s cheeks turn red as half the royal procession turned to look at her at once, the older girl’s composure holding admirably under what was clearly an uncomfortable amount of attention.
Karlon Stark.
Myrcella recognized that name.
The younger brother to Lord Eddard Stark, who was her royal father’s oldest friend.
The one to have given the Ironborn a proper fright during the rebellion back when Myrcella was just a child.
Though despite that, she could not understand why such a match incited much joy to a man like Lord Manderly.
She could see the merit had Wynafryd been betrothed to Robb Stark as that would mean she would be the next Lady of Winterfell.
But the son of Karlon Stark?
A mere brother to a Lord Paramount?
She glanced at her cousin, Lancel, who trailed a few steps behind the King.
He held the same standing technically, as the eldest son of Uncle Kevan.
But she couldn’t imagine any of her grandfather’s bannermen excited to marry their daughter to him of all people.
But Lord Wyman’s evident delight suggested he did not see it that way at all.
It explained the feast prepared before their arrival, in any case.
Some celebrations did not wait for kings.
“A joyous day indeed!” her father bellowed, his good humor restored in full now that food had been promised and a wedding announced in the same conversation.
He turned, beaming, toward the younger granddaughter — green-streaked hair and all.
“Well, if not the elder, then the younger will do nicely.
I’ll have her ride south with us, to attend my daughter at court.
They’re much closer in age anyways.” “It will be our honor, Your Grace!” Wyman laughed.
“As it happens, Lord Stark requested our presence in Winterfell to discuss the betrothal in detail.
My son and heir, Ser Wylis, were to ride there to represent me.” “Perfect timing then, he’ll ride with us and serve as escort through the rest of the North besides.
Saves us all finding our own way.” Robert declared.
Myrcella had to stifle a laugh at the expression that crossed Ser Barristan’s face.
It was so rare for the old knight’s composure to slip that it caught her off guard.
It seems adding another twenty strangers to their procession did not sit well with the Lord Commander.
The procession continued up the white street, snow still drifting lazily from the blue sky.
Myrcella pulled her cloak tighter still, and thought that whatever else the North turned out to be, it was, at the very least, not going to be boring.
… AN: The royal party arrives in the North as the news of betrothals spreads across the kingdom.
I’ve also done a bit of AU, making Ser Donnel Locke the nephew of Lord Ondrew.
The wiki doesn’t really specify what their relationship is, so this is what I came up with, the members of House Locke.
Lord Ondrew Locke → Lord of Oldcastle.
Has two children.
Ser Darwin Locke → first born Son of Ondrew, heir to Oldcastle.
Currently in Manderly’s court.
Sybelle Locke → Daughter of Ondrew Locke, and Robett Glover’s wife.
Future lady of Deepwood Motte.
Ser Donnel Locke → Captain of the Messenger, a ship of the Western Fleet.
Castellan of Frostkeep.
Nephew of Lord Ondrew Locke.
Ser Mallador Locke → Brother to Donnel.
A knight of the Night’s watch.
Will this information ever be relevant within this story?
I have no idea.
It’s just there in case I have a need for it.
Anyways, the Myrcella POV was fun to do, especially considering her pov of a genuinely kind, if not a bit sheltered princess.
Having her compare Wyman to an oversize barrel was great to write about.
Check it out if you’re interested, at least chapter 10 (long form, which is around chp 18 in webnovel) should be available by the time this chapter was uploaded.