Princess Myrcella Baratheon's heart shattered the day her mother, Queen Regent Cersei, publicly ended her royal betrothal to Roman Rivers.
When the news of Jaime Lannister's capture at the Whispering Wood and Lord Tywin's full retreat to the Westerlands finally reached King's Landing, Cersei spiraled. Then came the devastating reports—carried by Northern soldiers themselves—that Roman Rivers had severed Jaime's sword hand in single combat. Hearing it, Cersei lost what little control she had left.
In a fit of fury she announced to the Seven Kingdoms that the betrothal was broken. She would find Myrcella "a proper, loyal husband."
The highborn lords and starving smallfolk alike were stunned.
"What in the Seven Hells is wrong with Cersei Lannister?" the lords whispered. "Roman Rivers has built a prosperous realm with nothing but one house's resources. He's fighting the Crownlands in the east and holding Tywin at bay in the west. Why break the engagement now?"
A cynical Riverlord laughed. "If Myrcella had married him, Roman would have had to swallow his pride and accept peace no matter how much he hated the Lannisters. By insulting him like this, Cersei has handed the Dragon Lord the perfect excuse to act without a shred of restraint."
Casterly Rock
Lord Tywin Lannister was reinforcing the Rock's defenses and discussing a tactical truce when the raven arrived with Cersei's announcement. The Old Lion gripped the table until his knuckles whitened.
"That arrogant fool," he roared, a rare flash of pure rage. "Can she not see the disaster she has created? She has just given Roman Rivers legal justification to march straight on King's Landing!"
He swept a wine goblet off the table, shattering it. "What are Tyrion and Kevan doing in the capital? Are they blind? Why can they not control her?"
Meanwhile, in the Red Keep, Ser Kevan and Tyrion had never imagined Cersei would still possess the audacity to make such a move after her power had been curtailed. Kevan ordered the Kingsguard to confine her to her apartments at once, but the damage was already done. The insult had spread across the continent.
The opportunistic lords of Westeros watched Roman's silence closely. Several sharper minds began quietly considering how best to position their daughters near House Whent.
Winterfell
Sansa Stark had spent the last few days floating through the castle corridors, humming southern love songs, her head full of golden futures.
Arya couldn't resist mocking her. "Even if the betrothal is broken, you still might not marry him, Sansa. There are hundreds of beautiful, wealthy noblewomen throwing themselves at him in the south."
"Who says so?" Sansa lifted her chin. "As the eldest daughter of the Lord Paramount of the North, I am the most suitable match. Lord Roman will choose me."
Arya rolled her eyes, picked up her practice sword, and headed to the yard to train Water Dancing with Syrio Forel. The Braavosi swordsman had suggested moving the lessons to the warmer halls of Harrenhal, but the thought of Sansa tagging along to moon over Roman made Arya scowl.
King's Landing – The Red Keep
Myrcella stood at the window, a handful of golden corn in her palm. On the sill perched the clever Apostle raven Roman had given her. The bird usually soared high above the city and only came to her at set times for quiet company.
The Red Keep had grown oppressive. Feeding the raven was the only moment of peace she could find. She knew almost nothing of the war tearing Westeros apart; she simply wished everyone would sit down and talk.
Instead she heard daily battle reports and watched Cersei and Joffrey descend deeper into cruelty. She often thought back to the brief, happy days she had spent with her father, King Robert, and with Roman. Robert had actually listened to Roman's medical advice and stopped drinking for a time. For once Myrcella had felt like a real princess.
Then Robert died, and everything changed. Cersei went mad, Joffrey grew vicious, and her uncles were too busy with the war to protect the younger children. Sometimes Myrcella had to shield little Tommen from Joffrey herself.
She had come to realize how rare Roman's character truly was—he listened, he cared, he tried to understand. He felt like the hero from the old chivalric tales.
When Cersei stormed into her room and declared that Roman was no longer part of their family and that she would find Myrcella a more "obedient" husband, the princess's heart broke.
She looked down at the glossy black raven and whispered, "How… how has Lord Roman been lately?"
The raven stopped eating. It tilted its head, intelligent eyes studying her as though carefully choosing its words.
"Lord Roman returned to rest after the war ended," the bird answered in a clear, static-free voice. "Lady Fili has been looking after him. He is well."
At the name Fili, Myrcella's body trembled. The beautiful, capable blonde seneschal who followed Roman everywhere—outstanding in beauty, figure, and administrative talent. Rumors in the Red Keep said Roman might one day ignore tradition and marry her.
Myrcella knew she had spent far less time with Roman than Fili had. Fili had supported his ambitions for years. It was only natural they would grow close.
A heavy stone seemed to press on Myrcella's chest. She wanted to send the raven, to beg Roman to come, to use those great wings to carry her away from this suffocating place. But she could not. As a Baratheon princess her duty was to marry for the family's benefit. She could not abandon her responsibilities for love the way Prince Duncan the Small once had.
For a long, silent moment she stood trapped between duty and longing. Lying on her silk bed, she stared out at the distant sky and murmured helplessly, "Lord Roman… where are you? What should I do?"
Harrenhal – The Lord's Chambers
While Myrcella struggled, Fili had never been happier.
After Roman returned from the Riverlands campaign and recovered from his magical exhaustion, the last barriers between them had finally vanished. They had been sharing the same bed.
Late one night Roman lay on his side in the enormous soft bed, Fili curled warmly in his arms. She stroked his skin, laughing with pure joy.
"Fili," Roman smiled, tracing her spine, "have you been a little too excited lately?"
She rested her blonde head on his broad shoulder. "Lord Roman," she whispered, "this is one of the rare chances I get to have you all to myself without the entire continent interfering. If I don't seize it now, I'll regret it forever."
"Fili, I…"
She rose and kissed him, gently cutting him off. "My lord, I already know what you want to say. Please don't worry. Thanks to you I eat well, dress warmly, and live in a magnificent fortress. I have no unrealistic dreams of marriage. I'm content simply to stay by your side and support you. Whatever noble wife you eventually choose, I will support you with my whole heart."
Roman gazed at her radiant face in the moonlight, momentarily lost.
He had first brought Fili into his life because his draconic instincts had been drawn to her bright spark of magic. Over time she had become one of the most important people in his world—brilliant, loyal, tireless. A person like her was rare anywhere, let alone in Westeros.
He pulled her close, feeling her soft warmth against him. "Fili, one of the things I'm most grateful for is meeting you outside the rotting gates of King's Landing. You never need to diminish yourself. I am not the kind of man who uses loyal people and then discards them. You know my character better than anyone."
Fili's cheeks flushed. She looked up at him through her lashes, voice turning playful. "Well then, Lord Roman… may I ask for a physical reward tonight?"
Roman's eyes glinted with draconic mischief. He shifted, pressing her gently back onto the mattress as she gasped in delight. The silk sheet slipped down, moonlight bathing her body.
Fili closed her eyes in modesty, then peeked through her lashes, shy and yearning at once.
"Fili," he whispered huskily, leaning down, "you have a mountain of work tomorrow. Try not to oversleep."
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