( She flinches a little; almost imperceptibly, but not entirely so. Since returning to life, she's not touched anyone save for her father uncle when she'd taken his arm or hugged him.
But he is gentle, and kindly, at least by appearances. Myrcella eases swiftly, and follows him to be seated upon the couch. )
Thank you, my lord.
( Your Grace. How strange it sounds to hear now. The presence of wine merely reinforces her prior apprehension, and she stiffens again. And as he continues, she blinks as if she might think herself in a waking dream. Or nightmare, more like. Her mind delays in processing his words; but when it does, her face turns pale, and her mouth presses into a firm line. No. What had they done to deserve that?
Why had Ellaria blamed her for her mother's choices? Why had Trystane, gentle and beautiful and good, paid for loving her with his life? Something cracks, and then shatters within herself as she reaches forward and takes a long draught from one of the offered wine glasses. Myrcella doesn't weep; but the pain is there in her green eyes as she turns to look at him. )
Why? They are—were— ( She almost chokes on the word. ) Good. Decent. I have seen a little that such facets of character can mean one is not long for the world, but I had thought...
( Hoped. Prayed. ) That we could bring about a new beginning. It was enough that they blamed me for my mother, for His Grace, my elder brother.
( If she had been innocent, then Doran and Trystane had been tenfold as much so. Taking a deep breath, she glances away. A chill runs through her, preventing her from weeping. It settles, as she looks back at him with all the cool anger and ferocity she bears toward Ellaria Sand and her daughters obvious to see. )
They are most appreciated, my lord. ( A knot rises and coils in her throat, all the emotion she refrains from displaying openly. It takes her a moment to swallow it back and continue: ) He didn't want anything from me, other than me. I will never find that again. And he deserved so much happier a fate than what has befallen him.
( All because of her, and her association with Joffrey and her mother. A bitter truth that makes her stomach roil. )
action;
fatheruncle when she'd taken his arm or hugged him.But he is gentle, and kindly, at least by appearances. Myrcella eases swiftly, and follows him to be seated upon the couch. )
Thank you, my lord.
( Your Grace. How strange it sounds to hear now. The presence of wine merely reinforces her prior apprehension, and she stiffens again. And as he continues, she blinks as if she might think herself in a waking dream. Or nightmare, more like. Her mind delays in processing his words; but when it does, her face turns pale, and her mouth presses into a firm line. No. What had they done to deserve that?
Why had Ellaria blamed her for her mother's choices? Why had Trystane, gentle and beautiful and good, paid for loving her with his life? Something cracks, and then shatters within herself as she reaches forward and takes a long draught from one of the offered wine glasses. Myrcella doesn't weep; but the pain is there in her green eyes as she turns to look at him. )
Why? They are—were— ( She almost chokes on the word. ) Good. Decent. I have seen a little that such facets of character can mean one is not long for the world, but I had thought...
( Hoped. Prayed. ) That we could bring about a new beginning. It was enough that they blamed me for my mother, for His Grace, my elder brother.
( If she had been innocent, then Doran and Trystane had been tenfold as much so. Taking a deep breath, she glances away. A chill runs through her, preventing her from weeping. It settles, as she looks back at him with all the cool anger and ferocity she bears toward Ellaria Sand and her daughters obvious to see. )
They are most appreciated, my lord. ( A knot rises and coils in her throat, all the emotion she refrains from displaying openly. It takes her a moment to swallow it back and continue: ) He didn't want anything from me, other than me. I will never find that again. And he deserved so much happier a fate than what has befallen him.
( All because of her, and her association with Joffrey and her mother. A bitter truth that makes her stomach roil. )
I did love him. And I always will.