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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 145: The Necklace
The rope burned against her palms.
Myrcella clung to it with all her strength, her fingers wrapped tight around the coarse fibers, her feet scrambling for purchase against the stone wall.
The wind whipped at her gown, tearing at her hair, numbing her fingers. Below her, the city sprawled in darkness, a sea of shadows and distant lights.
'Do not look down,' she told herself. 'Do not look down. Do not-'
She looked down.
The ground was still impossibly far away. The city lights flickered like distant stars, tiny and unreachable. Her stomach lurched, and for a moment, she was certain she would fall.
'I am going to die,' she thought. 'I am going to die on the side of this cliff, and no one will ever know what happened to me.'
But she did not fall. She kept climbing, one hand over the other, one foot after the other. The rope held. The wall held. And slowly, painfully, the ground grew closer.
When her feet finally touched solid stone, she collapsed.
She lay there for a long moment, her breath coming in ragged gasps, her heart pounding so loudly she could hear it in her ears. The stone was cold beneath her, rough and uneven, and it smelled of-
Myrcella gagged.
The smell hit her like a punch to the gut. Rot, waste, and decay, all combined into a single stench so thick she could taste it.
She pushed herself up, her eyes watering, and looked around.
She was in an alley. A narrow, dark alley, hemmed in by crumbling buildings on both sides. The ground was slick with something she did not want to identify, and the walls were stained with substances she did not want to think about. In the distance, she could hear the sounds of the city. The drunken laughter, distant screams, the bark of a dog.
'Flea Bottom,' she realized, her heart sinking. 'I am in Flea Bottom.'
She had heard stories about this part of King's Landing. The poorest, most dangerous slum in the city. A place where cutthroats and thieves lurked in every shadow, where women were not safe after dark, where a lone girl in a silk gown would be prey for any man who found her.
And she was alone.
She looked at her shoulder. The crow was gone. It had disappeared during her descent, leaving her to navigate the last stretch of the climb on her own. She was alone, in the most dangerous part of the city, with nothing but a thin gown and a pair of soft shoes.
'This was a mistake,' she thought. 'This was a terrible, terrible mistake.'
She pressed herself against the wall, her heart racing. She needed to find the main road. She needed to find a guard, a gold cloak, anyone who could help her. But she had no idea which way to go. The alley stretched in both directions, dark and forbidding, and she could hear voices echoing from somewhere nearby.
"Oi, what's that?"
"I heard something. Over there."
Myrcella's blood ran cold.
She looked around desperately, searching for somewhere to hide. But the alley was empty…no doorways, no alcoves, no place to conceal herself. She was trapped.
Two figures emerged from the shadows at the end of the alley. Large men, their faces hidden beneath hoods, their bodies thick with muscle. They moved with the swagger of men who owned the streets, who took what they wanted and answered to no one.
"Well, well," one of them said, his voice a rasping growl. "What do we have here?"
"A little bird," the other said, grinning. "A little bird who's flown too far from the nest."
Myrcella pressed herself against the wall, her hands trembling. "Stay away from me," she said, her voice shaking. "I am... I am a lady of the court. If you touch me, the Queen will-"
"The Queen?" The first man laughed. "The Queen doesn't care about Flea Bottom, girl. The Queen doesn't even know we exist." He stepped closer, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. "You're alone, little bird. No one's coming to save you."
"Come with us," the second man said, reaching for her. "We'll keep you warm. We'll show you a good time."
Myrcella screamed.
Or she tried to. The sound caught in her throat, strangled by fear. She tried to run, but her legs would not move. She tried to fight, but her arms would not obey. She was frozen, paralyzed, helpless.
And then a voice cut through the darkness.
"Leave her alone."
The two men froze. They turned, their hands reaching for the knives at their belts, their eyes scanning the shadows.
"Who's there?" the first man demanded. "Show yourself!"
Two figures emerged from the darkness. They were dressed in dark tunics and furs, their faces hidden beneath hoods. One carried a sword, the blade gleaming in the faint light. The other held a bow, an arrow nocked and ready.
"She is with us," the swordsman said, his voice cold. "You have one chance to leave with your lives."
The two ruffians exchanged glances. They were large men, armed and dangerous. But there was something in the swordsman's voice, something in the way he held himself, that made them hesitate.
"The girl's ours," the first man said, though his voice had lost its confidence. "We found her first."
"You found nothing," the swordsman said. He stepped closer, his blade rising. "She is under our protection. Leave now, or die."
The bowman drew back the string, the arrow pointing directly at the first man's head. "We won't ask again."
The ruffians looked at each other. Then, with muttered curses and dark glares, they turned and fled into the darkness.
Myrcella sagged against the wall, her legs finally giving out. She slid down, her back scraping against the stone, and sat there, trembling, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
The swordsman approached her. He pulled back his hood, revealing a face she did not recognize…a young man with dark hair and grey eyes, his features sharp and weathered.
"I'm sorry about that," he said. "We wanted to be here before you descended, but we had some... distractions."
Myrcella stared at him, her mind racing. "Who are you?"
"Right. You won't remember me. We only met once, very briefly, when you visited Winterfell with the King." He smiled, a small, sad smile. "My name is Jon Snow."
Myrcella's eyes widened. "Jon Snow? Lord Stark's son?"
"Something like that." He gestured to his companion. "This is Kára."
Kára nodded, her face still hidden beneath her hood. She did not speak.
"She doesn't talk much," Jon added.
Myrcella looked from Jon to Kára and back again. "I thought... I was expecting Bran. The crow said..."
"Yes, he's here too." Jon pulled a cloak from his bag. It was a thick fur cloak, warm and heavy. "Come on. Put this on. I'll take you to him."
Myrcella took the cloak and wrapped it around her shoulders. The warmth was a blessing, seeping into her frozen bones, chasing away the chill that had settled in her chest.
"Bran is waiting," Jon said. "We should not keep him."
They led her through the twisting streets of Flea Bottom, keeping to the shadows, avoiding the main thoroughfares. Myrcella followed close behind, her hood pulled low over her face, her heart still pounding.
The people they passed did not look at her. They looked at Jon and Kára…and they looked away. There was something in the way Jon moved, in the way Kára watched everything with those sharp, assessing eyes, that made even the most hardened criminals give them a wide berth.
'They are afraid of them,' Myrcella realized.
She did not know why. But she was grateful for it.
They stopped before a rundown inn, its sign faded and cracked, its windows dark. Jon pushed open the door and stepped inside. Myrcella hesitated for a moment, then followed.
The inn was crowded, filled with rough-looking men and women, their faces hard and suspicious. They glanced up as Jon entered, then they looked away, returning to their drinks, their conversations, their quiet desperation.
Jon led her up a narrow staircase to the second floor. He stopped at the last door in the corridor and knocked twice.
"Come in," a voice said.
Jon pushed open the door.
The room was small but warm; there was a small fire crackling in the hearth. There was a circular table in the center, surrounded by chairs. And at the table sat a boy.
No, not a boy anymore. A young man. One she did recognize.
Myrcella stared at him, her heart catching in her throat. He was older than she remembered. His face was weathered; his eyes looked different. He sat in a chair, his legs hidden beneath a blanket, his hands folded on the table before him.
But she knew him.
"Bran," she breathed.
He looked at her, and she searched his face for some trace of the boy she remembered…the kind smile, the bright eyes, the warmth. She found nothing. Only the cold patience of someone who had seen too much and felt too little.
"Myrcella," he said. "It's been a long time."
She took a step toward him, wanting to embrace him, to feel the warmth of her old friend. But something stopped her…the look in his eyes, the stillness of his body. This was not the Bran she remembered. This was someone else.
"What happened to you?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
"Many things happened to me," Bran said. "Please, sit. We have much to discuss, and not a lot of time."
Myrcella sat.
Nearly an hour had passed after that.
Myrcella sat at the table, her hands wrapped around a cup of warm wine, her mind reeling with all the information she had received. Bran had explained as much as he could, as much as she could understand.
Their journey north of the Wall. The Three-Eyed Raven. The weirwood trees. The visions of past, present, and future. The war against the darkness.
Beside him sat a red-haired woman in red robes who introduced herself as Melisandre. A priestess of R'hllor, the Lord of Light. She had added details here and there, filling in gaps, explaining things Bran left unsaid.
Jon stood by the fire, adding wood to the flames. Kára sat in the corner, her bow across her lap, her eyes never leaving the door.
"The Three-Eyed Raven," Myrcella said slowly. "What does that mean? Are you no longer Bran Stark?"
"I am Bran Stark," he said. "But I am also something else."
"He has seen the past, present, and future of this world," Melisandre explained. "By connecting himself to the weirwoods, he was able to experience thousands of years of memories. Something like that will change you. It is inevitable, My Princess."
Myrcella looked at Bran, at his ancient eyes, at his cold expression. She thought of the boy she had known in Winterfell…the boy who had loved to climb, who had dreamed of being a knight, who had smiled so easily.
That boy was gone.
"You were controlling those animals," she said. "The crow, the cat, the mice. Is that... is that some kind of magic?. I think I read something about that in Winterfell. It was called…"
"Warging," Bran said. "Yes. I was controlling them."
"And the guards?. Why were they missing?. I didn't see anyone on my way out."
"Distracted. There was a sudden plague of rats in the castle. Quite inconvenient for them."
Myrcella almost smiled. Almost. "But why come here at all? You know how dangerous it is. The Starks are not welcome in King's Landing. Lord Stark declared the North independent. The Queen..."
"We know," Bran said. "We know what your mother has done. We know what she plans to do."
Myrcella's blood ran cold. "You know?"
"We have seen it," Melisandre said.
Myrcella's hands tightened around her cup. "I wanted to warn him about it. I tried to escape, but I was caught, and my mother... she locked me in my room."
"Your mother will not be able to stop us," Bran said. "But we cannot reach Joffrey without your help."
Myrcella frowned. "My help? What can I do?"
"It is very crucial that we contact your brother," Bran said. "And for that, we thought of coming to you first."
"You want to see Joffrey? But he is all the way in Essos."
"In Meereen, we know," Jon said.
"A journey by sea to Meereen would take a long time, and it would be risky," Bran said. "The sea is very treacherous on those parts. We thought that perhaps you had a more direct way to establish contact with your brother."
Myrcella looked confused. "Contact him? I wish I did..."
"Didn't he leave you something?" Melisandre asked. "Some object with magical properties? Perhaps he didn't explain it well."
Myrcella blinked. Something stirred in her memory. "Hmm? He did give me something. A necklace."
"A necklace?" Bran asked. "What kind?"
She described it. "He told me that if I was ever in danger, I needed to hold the stone and say the magical words."
They all looked at each other.
"That is it. That's what we are looking for," Bran said. "Where is it? Do you have it on you?"
Myrcella shook her head. "Mother took all of my things away before locking in that room. But why do you need that necklace? Do you know what it does?"
"We have an idea," Melisandre responded. "Do you remember the magical words to activate it?"
"Of course."
"Then we need to get it."
"What are you going to do with it? Can it be used to speak with my brother?" She now wished her brother had explained how the necklace worked in more detail.
"If it is what we think, then it could directly take us to your brother," Jon told her.
"What would that be?" Myrcella asked.
"We think that Prince Joffrey gave you a portkey," Melisandre said.
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