A/N: Hello folks! This is the prologue to a story I plan on updating regularly come the new year, I just thought I would post this up now and test the waters, so to speak. As you can tell from the summary and tags, it will be a Robb/Myrcella pairing. The main body of the story will also be set post-war(s), so if you've come for blood, guts and gore, this might not be the story for you. This is more family-based, hence the lack of a 'drama' tag. It also goes without saying that it will be extremely AU.

As for POV's, the chapters will alternate between Robb and Myrcella, though there may be the odd interlude of Cersei and/or Jaime, where appropriate.

If what I've said above sounds appealing, then I do hope you enjoy the start to this story, and that you might be persuaded to stick around for the coming chapters. As usual, I will try and post up one chapter a week come new year. Though sometimes it might stretch to 8 or 9 days, I will try and do my best to stick around the week mark.

If you have any questions don't hesitate to ask in the reviews, I do reply personally to everyone. Or just drop me a PM and I will get back to you as soon as I can.

So, as you're all aware, I do not own anything related to the world of Game of Thrones, credit all goes to George RR Martin, I am merely borrowing his beautiful characters and weaving a tale of my own. Any OC's that crop up, however, were created in my own head.

Right-ho then folks, let's get on with this prologue! If you could drop a review and let me know what you think of the premise, please do so. Any feedback is always very welcome.

:)

Prologue: The Pact

Robb

Robb was grim faced as he pushed the canvas entrance of his tent aside and emerged into the faint morning light. There were few other early risers, likely most of his men were still sleeping off their revelry from the night before. They had been in high spirits this past week, not that he could blame them. The news of Joffrey's death had not been expected, but for once the shock had been a good one. Robb himself had laughed and raised a flagon in the immediate aftermath of the news. They had the Kingslayer caged and now his bastard son was dead, trampled in riots at the Capitol. Sansa had been present but unharmed, that is what the letter had read anyway. That was the first letter, hurriedly written and unsigned. It was the second letter that had soured his mood, the letter sealed with a lion and signed by Tywin Lannister himself.

He wanted to treat, or so he said. He was coming from the Capitol and into the heart of Robb's camp to treat with him personally. His lords had been beside themselves with glee but Robb was more cautious. Wary. He didn't trust them. How could he after everything that had happened? The Lannisters had crippled his brother, put his father's head on a spike and held his sisters captive ever since. Now he was supposed to treat with Lord Lannister himself, the new bastard King's new Hand. Robb's own crown was set atop his dark auburn curls, he despised the weight of it but his lords had insisted. He fidgeted with his hands, straightening his doublet and throwing a look of contempt towards the Kingslayer's cage. The man was dishevelled and almost entirely unrecognisable from the polished, arrogant knight who had sauntered about Winterfell with a disdainful look adorning his face all that time ago.

Robb knew that whatever deal Tywin had for him, it would likely include the Kingslayer's release. Half his lords had told him to put his head on a spike in retaliation for his father. Lord Karstark in particular would love to deal the blow himself after his sons had been slaughtered at the hands of their Lannister prisoner. He had refused then because of his sisters, because he had no idea what they would do to them if he sent them the Kingslayer's head in a box. His mother had begged him already to offer up an exchange. Jaime Lannister for Sansa and Arya. He couldn't do it, not even for his sisters could he afford to release the Kingslayer. He wanted better terms. Justice for his father. Freedom for the North, and peace for its people. He wondered what the price for those terms would be as a shout came up from one of the periphery guards that a party bearing lion sigils was approaching.

He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as the faint sound of hooves against hardened ground reached his ears. There had been a frost again. Winter was indeed coming, and coming quickly. All Robb wanted now was to be back at Winterfell before the snows took hold, to bundle his family up and never let them leave the North again. He felt a presence at his side and turned his head slightly to see his squire stood at his side. Olyvar offered him a weak smile and he did his best to return it. "I've set out a flagon of the good wine, your Grace," he informed him and Robb nodded slightly.

"Thank you," he said, his voice stiffer than he intended it to be. Olyvar didn't seem offended though, he merely clasped his hands in front of him and waited at his side for the banners to come into view. They did in the end, as though in slow motion. Robb swallowed hard as his eyes found the man at the helm of the party. There were only a hundred men, Robb's own army could kill them all in minutes. Tywin was putting all his trust in the famed Stark honour, and it was only the thought of how disappointed his father would be in him that was stopping Robb from disregarding it. "I will kill them all."

That is what he had promised his mother. Justice for his father. Vengeance some might call it, but Robb lusted for it regardless. Joffrey was dead now, that was what his mother had kept reminding him in her soothing tones the night before when neither of them had been able to sleep. Joffrey was dead. The smug little prick who had murdered his father was dead. That was the main thing. Now they needed the girls back, to lay his father to rest with dignity in the vaults of Winterfell.

Robb took another deep breath as Tywin pulled on the reins of his horse, pulling it to a halt before dismounting with the grace of a man half his age. Instinctively Robb drew himself up taller, his jaw set and his eyes fixed on the approaching man. He refused to look afraid. He refused to appear green to this man who had years of experience that he could never hope to match. Robb was no fool. He knew damn well that he was no match for Tywin, but he had to hold his own and broker a deal for the North. Freedom. Independence. Was that really too much to ask for? No one south of the border had any desire to have dealings with them anyway. They didn't understand the northern ways with their favourable weather and their different Gods. The south was polished where the North was wild and ever so different. Torrhen may have knelt to dragons once upon a time, but Robb was stood here now with a crown atop his head, and he refused to kneel to a lion.

"Robb Stark, King in the North," Tywin greeted him with a slight sneer, his tone almost sounded mocking but Robb could not be sure about it.

"Lord Lannister," he returned coldly, inclining his head slightly as the man did the same to him.

"Let us not stand on ceremony and treat one another with false courtesies. I am here to treat, to end this ridiculous war and secure the Iron Throne for my grandson," Tywin said.

"Then let us treat," Robb gestured back towards his tent and Tywin let his cold eyes linger on him for a long moment before he swept passed and into the space. Robb exchanged a grim look with Olyvar before stamping his way after him. If he had it his way then he would have had his lords present for this, but Tywin had insisted that he would treat with him and him alone. Gods. He hoped he would be able to hold his own against this man. Robb may well despise him and all who bear his name, but that did not mean he was not an intimidating presence that he would be far happier to avoid.

"I ought to congratulate you, your performance at Whispering Wood was inspired," Tywin drawled as he helped himself to the wine that Olyvar had left out on the table. Robb had to bite his tongue to stop from thanking the man. He was irked. This was not how he had imagined this meeting going.

"I won't bend the knee," he said instead, picking up the flagon that Tywin had just set down, seeing the man's brows raise slightly.

"I didn't expect you to," Tywin replied after swilling the wine in his cup and drinking a long sip from it. "You would be a fool to," the older man continued. "You are in an enviable position, young Stark. Even without Joffrey's death you would have been a force to be reckoned with." Again Robb found himself wanting to thank him and he frowned slightly, wishing he wasn't being so complimentary. It was unnerving, and it only served to make Robb suspect that some terms would be laid out that he would be less than satisfied with.

"I want my father's body brought back to Winterfell with all the dignity your grandson didn't show him," Robb said venomously, and Tywin inclined his head. "I want his sword back, the one used to murder him," he continued, and again Tywin inclined his head. "I will keep my throne, the North will not be answerable to the southern Kingdoms, and neither will the Riverlands," Robb went on, deciding to push his luck, suspicion creeping ever further into him as Tywin again inclined his head. "My sisters will be returned to me," he finished, "and the North will be left in peace."

"Fine," Tywin uttered the one word in an utterly bored tone. "Now, I will tell you what I want," he continued and Robb inclined his own head to encourage him to speak. "I want aid in dispatching Stannis and Renly," Tywin began, "I want an alliance between the North and the southern Kingdoms; you will aid us should we need it and in return we will aid you should you need it. We will still supply men to the Wall, as it is not just the North it protects. We will have a free trade agreement and keep the same coinage."

Robb nodded his head, all of that he could agree with, but he had a feeling that Tywin wasn't finished. "You will release Jaime," his eyes bored into him and Robb stared back for a long moment before he inclined his head.

"I will release your son when both my sisters are returned to me in this camp," Robb told him, and for the first time the older man looked uneasy. "What?" Robb snarled, his hand clenching around the stem of his wine cup.

"Lady Sansa will be returned to you with all haste should our agreement be finalized," Tywin said, "but the Lady Arya has been missing from the Capitol since the death of your father."

"What do you mean, missing?" Robb demanded dangerously, his voice shaking slightly.

"We have had men scouring the country for her but she has not been found," Tywin explained, "but rest assured once we are allied and the agreement known, a substantial reward will be offered for her safe return. I will provide the gold myself." From anyone else it would have sounded like a generous offer of help, but hearing it from him just made Robb want to pull his sword and slit the man's throat.

"The Kingslayer stays with me until both my sisters are returned to me," Robb told him, his eyes flashing as they met his.

"Very well," he sighed tiredly, "but can I request that he at least be kept according to his status?"

"And what status would that be? Knight of the Kingsguard? Or the lowlife scum who crippled my brother because he caught him fucking his own sister?" Robb asked in a venomous tone, seeing Tywin's expression darken for a moment.

"That is a disgusting lie dreamt up by Stannis Baratheon because he wants to usurp his own nephew's rightful claim to the throne, do you understand me?" his tone was quiet but Robb could hear the threat in it well enough. Even so he refused to answer, or even incline his head the slightest fraction. "And to prove that the free and independent North does not believe such filth, you will take my granddaughter as your queen," Tywin snapped and Robb's eyes widened to such a degree that he imagined they might fall out of his head.

"I am already betrothed to the daughter of Walder Frey," he told him. Never before had he been grateful to his mother for making that deal but he was thanking her over and over in his head now.

"Walder Frey," Tywin chuckled dismissively, "I will throw enough gold at Walder Frey that he may well drown in it. You will be released from your betrothal to his ah, charming, daughter, and you will marry Myrcella when she comes of age. That is my price for your independence, Stark. Now what do you say? Agree to the match and end this war, return to the North a hero and a King, or continue on with it and risk your own life, the life of your sisters and your entire family, and send thousands of your men to a death which you could have saved them from? What's it to be, Stark?"

Robb said nothing, raising his wine cup to his lips as his heart pounded wildly in his chest. How could he agree to this? Agree to marry a girl who was the bastard product of incest who was being dressed up as a royal princess. A Frey girl was one thing, but this? Tywin was eyeing him, though he said nothing else as Robb's head and heart raced unbearably quickly. What choice did he have? How could he live with sending thousands of men to their graves, leaving their wives widows and their children without a father? How could he do that when the end of the war was standing right in front of him? How could he do that when one word of agreement from him would end this now and have them on their way home to Winterfell within a fortnight?

He closed his eyes in despair. Myrcella Baratheon was a child, he barely remembered her from Winterfell, only a vague memory of her being there in the stands watching when Bran and Tommen had sparred together. He didn't remember ever speaking to her, or ever looking at her. She was a child. Gods. If he agreed to this he would be waiting years for a wedding to a girl who would no doubt spend the entirety of those years being poisoned against him and his family by her bitch of a mother. What chance of happiness would they have? He didn't even know if he would be able to tolerate her name, live with the fact that his wife and mother of his children was part of a family he despised. Sister to the tyrant who had ordered the death of his father. But what choice did he have? He would never be able to sleep at night knowing that he had thrown away the chance of peace. Thrown away the one opportunity to get everything he had fought for handed to him. Everything and more, so it seemed.

"Fine," he uttered the word before he could think any more about it. He had years to get used to the idea of marrying the girl. Years to come to terms with it and think of some way that he could tolerate her, and at least try and live in some kind of harmony with her.

"Good," Tywin nodded curtly, "I will have the terms drawn up if you give me leave to use your tent." Robb could only nod faintly, his head spinning as he thought on what he had just agreed to. The lords would be beside themselves, his mother would be more relieved than he had words for. They were going home. Finally, they were going home, a Lannister queen the price for safe passage and independence.

"I'll be out with the men, have my squire send for me when it's done," Robb said faintly as he wandered aimlessly out of the tent, not even waiting for Tywin's agreement.

"Your Grace!" the Greatjon hailed him and Robb looked in his direction to see that all his lords had seemingly gathered in a huddle just waiting for him to emerge.

"Is it done?" Lord Flint asked him, all their eyes wide as they waited for him to relay the news.

"We have our independence, and a peaceful agreement with the southern Kingdoms," they looked speechless as he delivered the news, wide eyed and doubtless waiting for him to continue. "We will aid them in quelling the rebellions from Stannis and Renly, and they will aid us in turn should we ever need it," he went on in a dull tone, "and when Princess Myrcella comes of age, I will take her as my queen."

If they had been puzzled by his lack of enthusiasm before then he imagined from the looks on their faces that they understood it well enough now. "A Lannister queen," Lord Karstark uttered the words almost like a curse and Robb sighed heavily.

"It wasn't negotiable. It was that or continue this war, losing lives unnecessarily. If I can live with it," he took a deep breath and tried to convince himself that that was true. "If I can live with it," he repeated, "then you all most certainly can."

Lord Karstark nodded grimly at his words, the Greatjon's hand coming to slap reassuringly against his shoulder. "It could be worse lad," his hardened general said gruffly, "at least you know you'll be getting a looker."

Robb tried to smile, but he would not have been surprised to hear it described as a grimace. His gaze swept over the Lannister party who were being given a wide berth by the slowly wakening camp, his eyes narrowing as they set on the lion sigil fluttering in the breeze. "Aye, no dour Frey for queen," one of the Cerwyns jeered, and again Robb tried to smile. He knew they were trying to cheer him and he was grateful for it, but it was not something he wanted to hear right now. Right now he was quietly mourning his soon to be broken betrothal to the dour Frey girl. He had never even had a name for her, let alone a face, but at least he had the comfort of knowing that he wouldn't despise her.

"If you'll excuse me, my lords, I need to speak with my mother," he finally said, turning away from them as they murmured their agreements.

On his way to his mother's tent he tried to find the words in his mind to break the news to her that Arya was not held at the Capitol, and had not been for some time. She would be heartbroken, her emotions no doubt as conflicted as Robb's own were right now. All of a sudden he felt selfish for lamenting his new betrothal when his mother would soon be suffering the agony of not knowing where one of her children was. Whether they were alive or dead. He shook his head as he approached, it would do no good to think the worst. If anyone could survive the wilds then it was Arya, he was almost certain of that. He took a calming breath before he called out to his mother, determining to be as positive as possible in her presence. She called for him to come in and he did as she bid him, her eyes looking expectantly at him as he entered.

"You have finished treating already?" she asked with wide eyes and he nodded his head, forcing a smile to his face.

"It's good news mother," he said, "mostly, at least." Her brow creased at that as she stood up and came closer to him, her hand finding his.

"Mostly?" she repeated, her grip on his hand tightening almost painfully.

"Sansa will be returned to us, and father's body. The North will have its independence and a peace with the southern Kingdoms," he reeled off, seeing her brow furrow even more.

"Arya?" her voice was barely more than a whisper and he swallowed hard before answering.

"She has not been at the Capitol since father was killed," he confessed to her and she gasped, her nails pinching into the back of his hand as her other hand came up to cover her mouth.

"Where is she?!" she asked almost desperately but Robb could only shake his head.

"I don't know mother, I wish I did," he said, "but…listen…the Kingslayer will remain our prisoner until she has been found. I will not release him until Arya is back with us, Tywin Lannister is offering a great reward. She will be returned to us, I know it." His tone was fierce by the end and she nodded faintly, her eyes still shining with tears as he looked down on her, inwardly pleading that she would believe him and be reassured.

"Tywin Lannister is doing all that," she frowned, "why? What does he gain from it? He must want more than the Kingslayer's release, Robb?"

"He wants the North to aid him in dealing with Stannis and Renly," he told her, but still she was frowning at him.

"There's more," she guessed astutely, "what is it you aren't telling me?" She was suspicious now and sounded almost impatient with him, and so he sighed, knowing he would have to tell her the truth.

"I will marry Princess Myrcella when she comes of age," he confessed, seeing the look of dismay cross her features.

"The Freys?" she tried weakly and he shook his head.

"Tywin has enough gold for them as well," he said bitterly and she squeezed his hand, her eyes soft and sympathetic.

"It is not the worst thing that could have happened," she said, her tone falsely bright. He could only snort in response and her hands came to his upper arms, forcing him to look at her. "It is not," she repeated, her eyes holding his fast. "She was always such a sweet and polite girl when she was at Winterfell. She and Tommen were meek and proper, and not at all entitled nor pompous the way Joffrey was."

Robb wished he could take comfort from her words, but it was hard for him to see anything other than a bleak future. "Time changes things," he said stonily, "I imagine Cersei Lannister was once a perfectly pleasant young girl. You can bet anything that she will not be endearing her daughter to me, I can't imagine us ever being anything other than miserable. Perhaps we will be able to tolerate one another, if we are lucky."

"It may not be a love match," his mother soothed him, "but that does not mean it cannot work. I know it will be hard being bound to that family, but you need to have a little faith Robb. There is no point you thinking the worst of Myrcella before you have spent any time with her. I imagine it will be many years before she is sent from the Capitol, you have plenty of time to get used to the idea. Perhaps you could write to her?" her suggestion at the end was a hopeful one, and one that had Robb rolling his eyes at her.

"You really think any letter I write will find its way into her hands?" he questioned her and she sighed heavily.

"I suppose you may have a point there," she conceded and he smiled wryly.

"You think?" he raised a brow and she gave him a stern look.

"You may be a man grown and a king, but that does not mean you can speak to your mother in such a derisive manner," she scolded him and a real smile twitched his lips.

"There is no chance of me being corrupted by my own sense of grandeur and entitlement with you around to guide me mother," he smirked, "perhaps I should assign you a seat on my council?"

She smacked his shoulder lightly at that, a smile threatening her own lips. "Don't cheek me, Robb Stark," her tone was stern again but he could hear the underlying amusement and it kept the smile on his lips.

"Forgive me mother, I ought to know better at my age," he said and she smiled, smoothing a crease in his doublet and gazing at him in that searching way that only a mother could.

"I know you are sacrificing your own personal happiness for the good of this family, Robb, and I swear to you, I will never forget it for as long as I live. You have made your father even prouder today, I know it."

"Thank you," he nodded, his throat feeling rather constricted as he had to look away from her gaze.

"You're welcome," she said softly, just as Olyvar's voice drifted through the canvas of her tent.

"That was quick," Robb muttered, and his mother looked at him quizzically as he called to Olyvar that he would only be a moment. "I have to sign the agreement," he explained to her and she nodded her head, her cheeks paling.

"Be sure," she advised him and he nodded.

"I am," he tried to sound convincing. "I have to be," he shrugged his shoulders before he left the tent, not lingering long enough to allow her to find any more comforting words for him. He walked in silence through the camp with Olyvar at his side, seeing his lords give him encouraging nods and weak smiles as he passed by them.

He mentally steeled himself before he marched right into his tent, seeing Tywin stood at the head of the table waiting for him. "Let's get this over with," Tywin said, holding out a quill to him. Robb stepped forward and took it, turning the parchment so it faced him and reading through each word of it. He heard an impatient huff, but he read on, unwilling to sign anything until he was certain that Tywin was not trying to dupe him. When he reached the end he was grudgingly satisfied, everything that they had verbally agreed upon was written down and he knew he had no choice but to sign. Slowly he dipped the quill into the inkpot before moving it to the bottom of the parchment. He swallowed hard before he quickly scrawled his name, handing the quill to Tywin without even looking at him and hearing him scratch out his own mark.

"I'm sure your squire can add the seals," Tywin said, glancing towards Olyvar who nodded briskly.

"Of course my lord, your Grace," Olyvar bowed shortly to both of them before he moved around the tent to begin melting the wax. Robb watched him for a moment before he fixed his eyes on Tywin.

"Now what?" he asked heavily, and the older man scrutinized him for a long moment.

"I will see my son," Tywin stated, "and then I will return to the Capitol and arrange for Lady Sansa to be transported here." Robb nodded his agreement at that, watching Olyvar dribbling the melted wax onto their signed agreement.

"I suppose we will have to coordinate, to deal with Stannis and Renly," Robb said grudgingly, and it was Tywin's turn to nod his head.

"Indeed," he agreed, "we will act as swiftly as we possibly can, at least try and make this as painless as possible."

"Once they are dealt with I will be returning to the North, I hope, with Arya in tow," Robb said, his eyes meeting Tywin's as he spoke.

"We all want the matter dealt with as soon as possible," he said, "that way we need not have any dealings with one another beyond what is necessary. At least, not until it comes time for Myrcella to make her journey north."

"Indeed," Robb said tersely, watching Olyvar carefully rolling up the agreement. Tywin held his hand out for it but Robb took it before he could, seeing the surprise in the older man's eyes. "I will keep this, and have a copy made. We will sign it again when you escort Sansa here," Robb said, and for a second he thought he saw a grudging admiration in the older man's eyes.

"Very well," he agreed heavily, turning to make his way to the entrance. "Until next time," Tywin paused as he pulled back the flap, his eyes looking Robb up and down for a moment; "your Grace."

A/N: So there we have it. The first chapter in this story's timeline will belong to Myrcella, and I will post it up in the new year.

Hope you all have a very merry Christmas!

:)