Summer eyes

by ihaveastorminme

A sister for a kingslayer; a princess for a kingdom. A precarious alliance forged through a marrige, and a union that would become as undestroyable as it would be unmendable. "-so soon have you forgotten the promise i made you?"...where you go i shall go; where you die i shall die and there shall i be buried.' Her hiss drew blood: "You lied then. You lie now." (minor jonXsansa)

10. - ,and every promise you will break

AN: the last of the Riverrun chapters, finally!

The first part of this chapter is… well, difficult. It runs a certain risk of coming off as improbable where Oberyn is concerned. I have tried to construct it so that it may be as solidly logic as I could make it and hopefully keeping true to the characters. I hope that takes the edge off, but in the end it will depend on how you perceive the characters, so it may be subjective to each of you. As for Tyene - I read something a couple of days ago (a confrontation between her and Doran Martell) that made me realize that the personality i have given her is actually more suited to Nymeria, but i did not know that before i wrote this, so bear with me there.

Thank you for reading and I hope you like :)

7. …and every promise you will break.

"Truly man is the king of beasts, for his brutality exceeds them. Our lives are made by the death of others. We are the burial places."

Leonardo da Vinci

When Robb walked into the room, one look was enough to tell him that he was not to dine alone with Oberyn. His mother was there also, and Arya too who seemed deep in a discussion with Tyene Sand while Sansa spoke to prince Oberyn, Ellaria and princess Myrcella. The moment she saw him, his sister got up with a smile and came to his arm, a bright greeting on her lips… which Robb found amusing since they had after all broken their fast together only that morning. Once she was close enough that she could whisper to him however, he understood why.

"It was good of you to invite the princess to dine with us Robb." Sansa said, eyes bright. But the confusion that immediately showed in Robb's face melted her smile, sparking doubt in her. Her whole face fell and Robb didn't even need to say anything at all.

"You didn't." she whispered to herself, frowning. But what she did next amazed Robb entirely though. She looked at their mother, who seemed utterly oblivious to them as she reminded Arya to keep a better posture as she sat on the table.

As she took her place, Sansa acted and looked as if nothing at all had changed, and she was utterly undisturbed. Robb however felt a certain lingering unease. It was nothing, of course, but the uncertainty had a way of bothering him… though when the Princess turned to look at him and he saw that the bright smile she had been sharing with Ellaria Sand a moment ago stayed on her face, undimmed, Robb felt that agitation quieten and he gave her a small smile back. It really didn't matter why the princess was here, nor who invited her if he did not. It was rare to see her truly happy and not simply bothering to look that way, and Robb found that he liked the sight of that. Her presence was brighter when the emotions behind it were real.

The meal, though a simple affair, passed cheerfully. It was impossible to sit with Oberyn and not find yourself laughing over all the things the man had seen and done in his life, or at Ellaria and her little quips about them. After they had finished, the company scattered about the room a bit. Or rather, his mother and Tyene Sand went to sit by the windowsill together, comparing stitches, while Ellaria was deep in discussion with Arya and Sansa. They were trying to draw in the princess as well, who seemed to be more interested in Robb and Oberyn's talk of supply lines and military tactics against the Ironborn.

Robb had been feeling so at his ease and comfortable that when the change happened, it was quite unexpected.

"Throughout all my life, one of the things I have never been called is 'subtle'." when he found himself addressed so vaguely by none other than Oberyn, Robb was puzzled. "And up here in the north it suits me, since I have come to find that northerners value directness and repudiate underhanded measures. This makes the obligations I have to my allies a little clearer, and easier to live by."

Robb didn't like the pause that the prince made after those words either, but he liked what came after even less.

"Princess Myrcella…"

But acknowledge the call was all she could do so far. She did so with a turn of her head and a barely accented smile that invited speech.

"Did you know how it was that our alliance with the North came to pass?" Oberyn asked, with all the lightheartedness of an easy conversation that was not meant to go anywhere in particular. Robb froze, his hand tightening on his glass in a way that was almost instinctive and he found he had to pry his fingers loose with great effort.

Just what the bloody fuck did Oberyn think he was doing?

The princess was not fooled by the lightness of Oberyn's tone either. There was too much intent in those dark viper eyes for her to miss. She hesitated in unsureness only for a moment before she too abandoned the vulnerable lightness of her mood. Robb watched as Myrcella Baratheon, princess of the Iron Throne, collected herself as if every free smile and lighthearted word had been a piece of her person she had scared about the room… and once she was done she returned a different creature, composed and politely distant. A princess, where before she had given them glimpses of a person.

She could not know of course the thin line Oberyn was treading on, just how much the Viper of Dorne would endanger if he gave away too much too soon. There were so many secrets that should not be mentioned, not even hinted at, one in particular. But the keeping of secrets was important not only for the sake of those hidden things, but for the princess' safety as well, because the nature of them was so that she would be the only one the blades in the dark would cut: they'd be forced - Robb would be forced - to truly guard her then, lest she should slip the wrong word to the wrong man. And how happy would that make everyone… Robb could hardly keep the scowl off his face at the thought. He felt his lips thin in anger, but tried hard to steady himself. He knew he must not be obvious of his emotions, not now. He should be as unflappable about this as the princess was being. He should, because unlike the princess who kept herself so composed because she was always such a careful girl, Robb knew the stakes all too well.

But he knew something else as well: no matter what charade he had to keep, he would never allow their best kept secrets to slip, not even for Oberyn. Not because he might not be able to control the princess afterwards - though it was a fair possibility - but because Robb didn't want to have to do it. He could not allow himself to reach that level. He would not. And no matter who it was that demanded it or why, he could not allow someone blameless to suffer for another's madness. No matter who was which.

"No, I'm afraid I do not know, Prince Oberyn." The princess said calmly. 'Go on, tell me' her expression said. She even looked curious.

Oberyn got up, started circling the table until he came to stand against the back to the princess' chair. The dornishman only glanced at him but Robb was sure that Oberyn had gotten the silent warning clearly. All Robb could think of was 'He better.' He did not like to give ultimatums to allies, but he would to that and more if he had to.

"The Winter King made me an offer that I could not have refused; one that no man but him had ever chosen to give me, consequently earning my everlasting respect." Oberyn leaned in so that he was closer to the princess as he spoke, his head practically side by side her golden one. The princess did not seem bothered by it however. "You see… he gave me the chance for revenge."

The princess swallowed her surprise in a blink, staring straight ahead into nothingness, her face utterly blank.

"Gregor Clegane." She murmured tonelessly.

Oberyn behind her scowled at the name.

And that was when Robb knew this was not going to be what he first had feared. Oberyn didn't plan on giving away any secrets here. It was worse than that, somehow. Because it only took the Mountain's name to remind all present of what the man was most famous for and suddenly the shadow of Oberyn's past, the ghost of his sister Elia was the in the room with them… and over Princess Myrcella's shoulder too, a shade hovered: in the gold of her hair and green of her eyes. She was a living, breathing reminder of it; of how, and why… and by whom.

"Indeed." Oberyn said, pulling out a chair in front of the princess and plucking himself there. "Gregor Clegane. The Enormity and Rides. They had managed to capture him alive, did you know? I had the pleasure of killing him myself."

Oberyn's eyes glittered; by then every other conversation in the room had died and the air was staring to thicken in silence and mounding tension. Even Arya was standing still and silent as a mouse, grey eyes not missing anything, quick as steel in the dark. The princess on the other hand sat straight as always on her chair, her shoulders thrown back, chin just slightly pointed upwards. Her whole demeanor was that of someone undaunted and she stared at the princes with the cool eyes of the unemotional.

"I killed him slowly, with little bites of steel here and there. He broke three of my ribs and almost crushed my skull as he had done with my sister before me… But the Mountain that Rides is slow and the viper strikes fast."

Robb did not know what reaction he had been expecting, but the princess' nod in understanding most certainly was not it.

"…Did he scream?" she asked then, so flatly that it was hard to know what hid behind the question. Perhaps it was a challenge. Perhaps she really wanted to know.

…Perhaps she just wanted to show the Viper of Dorne that she was not going to flinch for him.

Oberyn's smile was all teeth, ready for a bite. "Oh, he did. Manticore poison is one of the most painful ways to die. He screamed for days. I must admit… I enjoyed every moment of it."

Robb searched for a sign of discomfort on the princess' face, some sign that she wanted to be done with this conversation.

She gave none.

In that moment she was to him as blank as a clean sheet of paper and with every moment growing more distant.

"I am glad you got your revenge, prince Oberyn." The princess says instead, and as far as Robb can tell, she meant it. There is a certain feeling there, some sort of emotion that she gently lays on them, as if unwilling to be too transparent with it.

But it does not matter because Oberyn is not satisfied.

"I got one kill, but there was no revenge." he says as he leans forward, his elbows on his knees, and Robb sees Sansa looking at him with something like alarm, though Ellaria has one hand over her forearm, as if to calm her.

Make them stop, her eyes tell me. How, he wishes to ask her? How without appearing a fool, when both the viper and the princess seem so concerned with making this look as if it's just another conversation? It's almost shameless how Oberyn disregards his authority so carelessly, but so far he has not said or done anything that might justify any kind of intervention on Robb's part… and that sets Robb's teeth on edge more than anything. He hates being caged in by diplomatic thorn-beds and careful manners, things that for the most part, he found he had little patience for. The truth is that had this not been the prince of Dorne, Robb would have said 'to hell with it' and grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, thrown him out the room without giving a single fuck about manners at all.

…But it was the Prince of Dorne and many things came with that. This was one of his most important alleys, a man that had helped him win the war in more ways than one, and upon whose intervention a key alliance had been forged, with all that that meant for the future. And until the Princess gave some sign of being bothered in any sort of way, Robb felt he had no legitimate grounds to interfere between them. He had a passing doubt however, that the sea would dry and mountains would blow in the wind[1] before this princess ever gave any adversary the pleasure of seeing them affect her.

Oberyn seemed to be relentlessly trying though.

"You see Myrcella, even when I cursed him and threated to chase him through all seven hells, the Mountain did not tell me who it was that gave him the order to kill my sister. He did not admit to it, even after he said my sister's name, her children's name. Even after he admitted to raping her, killing her, killing her son. Even then, he would not speak Tywin Lannisters name." Oberyn's intensity could be overwhelming at the best of times, but now… Robb was sure that the dornishman was deliberately trying to be unnerving, biting off every word as if it cost him pains. "I have been wondering why that is for months. It has almost made me doubt that which I know to be true."

Oberyn spoke in the tones of someone stating things, not asking things, and yet the open ended nature of his words made them into a natural question, especially considered who they were being referred to. As for the princess… her surprise was short lived and minimal – all in all, just one blink - but to Robb was enough. She had understood in that moment, as Robb had, where this had been heading from the start.

Robb felt his anger start to stir. How long had Oberyn been planning this? And what the hell gave him the right to think he… Robb's thoughts jarred into a halt and he recalled the way his sister had looked to their mother when she learned that Robb had not invited the princess here himself. So that was why the Red Viper thought he could abuse his guest: because his mother had given the prince permission to do so? Whether it had been done implicitly or not, it didn't matter; she had no right!

And neither did anyone else, not even the fucking prince of Dorne, not even for this.

"Oberyn." Robb did not mean to say the donnish prince's name quite so much like a warning, but it was the way it came out.

He would not be made of fool of by anyone - and that was precisely what his mother had given Oberyn the permission to do, whether she realized it or not, if indeed it had been her behind the bringing of all this together. Robb could not imagine her intentions and at this point, they did not matter and not just because he was angry with her for it. Whatever her point, the result of her actions would be Robb's clear ineptitude to guarantee the safety of a single girl! Lannister or not, he was better than that. He could not blame shitstains like Aemon Frey for not understanding this very simple concept – if that boy had had ten hands he still would not be able to wipe his own arse – but his mother should have known better. Oberyn too, should have known better.

'Obligations to his allies' the Viper said. The truth was that the prince of Dorne had been there when Robb had made the matter plain with his men. After that feast and Aemon Frey's idiotic antics, Robb had made it clear that any form of attack on the Princess of the Iron Throne would be met with utter inflexibility on his part… and warned the Frey boy for the first and last time that if he ever dared to play such games again, he would start losing body parts to Grey Wind - and he'd meant it. They could not seem to understand that it was not just one Lannister's safety and nerves they wanted to play with, but their King's honor as a host, as her keeper and intended… as Ned Stark's son. But since this seemed to escape the understanding of most, Robb had seen fit to give fair warning, which was probably why the Viper now wanted to have him in the room for this lovely discussion, as if Robb's being there could somehow alter the nature of this exchange into something other than what it was plainly shaping up to be: and interrogation between uneven parties.

"My friend, I only seek the truth." Oberyn said by way of explanation.

Robb felt his face harden against his feelings. He willed himself into impassiveness like so many times before and felt the way it cooled his temper and created distance between himself and his feelings, as if they belonged to someone else.

"You may seek the truth when the one you seek it from is not under my protection." He heard himself say, and knew that he sounded severe enough to bruise. He'd wanted to. But instead of backtracking, Oberyn's smile stretched wider, though it was not more cheerful than before.

"I ask for nothing more than the princess is willing to give." The dornishman said then… and Robb saw the meanings of those words unraveled like threads of a tapestry when he noticed the effect they had on the princess as she absorbed them: he saw it in the way her chin lifted up a fraction, acknowledging; that tiny, almost imperceptible curl at the corner of her lips was just as challenging as the vipers sneer. She had seen his dare... and taken it.

But when the princess turned to Robb, that look of defiance in her was gone, replaced by a severe sort of blankness that froze her face into a mask of stone.

"I thank you, your grace, for your fairness… but I would rather face this here and now. I see no point in letting matters fester between friends."

Friends… Robb wondered if she really believed that, or how much a friend Oberyn was to her right now. But he was not blind to the determined set of the princess' jaw, the firmness of her tone. She was set to meet Oberyn head on, whatever he had to say. Robb had not thought the princess confrontational until this moment. Now he saw that not only was she so, but dauntless as well. There was no fear in her eyes, no cowering. Only firm resolution.

Not one to shy away from a fight are you?

What was it that Sansa had said? …always braver than her brothers. But it was different to hear words than it was to see the proof of them before his eyes.

"See, the princess admits she will answer me." Oberyn declared. 'As I knew she would' his tone seemed to suggest.

"I admitted no such thing." The princess countered immediately, tone so coldly polite it could draw blood. "I do not claim to be your equal in frankness, Prince Oberyn. You may ask a question which I may chose not to answer[2]."

There was the spark of defiance in so cold a manner, so flat an answer. Pride could be a virtue to be admired, but Robb had always thought too much of it was a sure way to die. The princess seemed to be toeing a fine line there.

Perhaps that was what made Oberyn lose all presence at playfulness as he took the princess in, the seriousness with which she spoke.

"You know me well, Myrcella." his voice had dropped a little, evened out. Robb did not miss the familiarity with which the Oberyn addressed the princess, just as he realized that he had been, ever so politely, put to the sidelines. The Princess of the Iron Throne had made her choice, firmly so in fact, and in a way that left no doubt over her will. But what most surprised Robb was the fact that, so gently had she turned away his assistance that for a moment, he had not realized it at all. And though the uselessness of his position in this made Robb want to grit his teeth and scowl at her for her willfulness… he could not help but appreciate the spirit behind it.

"I know you sketchily, my prince." the princess corrected, making Oberyn smile with one corner of his mouth. It looked bitter and didn't reach his dark eyes.

"Then you ought to know I am not a man to be trifled with."

"I do know that" the princess admitted calmly. "As I'm sure you know that I am not one to 'trifle' with anyone or anything."

Neither the princess nor Oberyn looked to be tiring form their staring, both equally convinced, it seemed, that neither should be the one to first look away.

"Why didn't the Mountain name Tywin Lannister, Myrcella?" the prince's question resounded with a sadness that sometimes echoed in Oberyn's every word, a sadness that was no less real even though his eyes burned fierce.

To Robb the question itself seemed pointless. How could she possibly know?

"I do not know why." The princess said impassively. "You should have thought to ask him before you killed him."

Robb felt his lips thin in disapproval. It was bad enough that she was toying with fire; she did not need to add to it by provoking someone with a temper as unstable as Oberyn's.

But the prince of Dorne only smiled, thin and lopsided, at her stone-faced nerve.

"I should have. But I got... shall we say carried away." Oberyn took a deep breath with eyes briefly closed, and Robb knew what he was seeing behind those eyelids. "The feel of a man's flesh opening, his bones and guts peeking through - it's almost intoxicating. And the scent of blood... it overwhelms senses and reason, the beast inside the man comes out. And I had been wanting that kill for too long."

The more Oberyn spoke, the lower his stare became, the more threatening. His words painted a gruesome picture and Oberyn did not hide the pleasure in his voice as he spoke them. It was meant to unnerve and provoke, Robb knew. Had a man addressed those words to him, Robb would have taken them for the threat they were, but it was to a princess that Oberyn was speaking them to… though the implication was no different.

They were wasted, for all Robb could tell: the princess didn't even change breathing patterns, as if she heard of such pitiless revelations every day.

"Shame then." Was all she said, remarkably indifferent. A princess born, some would say. Royalty suited her well, comfortably even, set apart as she seemed in that moment; utterly untouched and untouchable. Perhaps, as kings were made and not born, so were princesses. It made Robb think that he may have been wrong after all: pride alone is hollow, it cannot account for courage. She was not immune to nerves however: the line of her shoulders stood tense, her hands were clasped tightly and unmoving in her lap, her whole person too still. She was so coiled she might snap. There was no real danger to her; Robb would never allow it… but she did not know that.

What reason does she have to trust you with her safety after all, Robb thought derisively. Look at the position she is now, and you're sitting in the same room with her, silent and useless.

His exasperation at his own helplessness made Robb forget for a moment that it had been the princess herself to refuse to hide behind him. And once he was reminded, he was not so kind.

Lannister pride. Of course she would not!

He could so easily despise her for the same reason he had admired her not a moment ago.

…So many ways to see the same thing. That's how she managed to complicate everything for him: she was herself and her name.

"Tell me Myrcella. I need to hear it and I wish to hear it from your mouth." Oberyn demanded as he leaned forward even further, a snake coiling. "Who killed my sister? Who gave the order?"

But the princess gave no answer. She stood unmovable as granite and did not look to anyone for help either, thought she was not alone in the room. It was not her way, it seemed, to ask for help… nor perhaps be prepared to receive it. Was the thought so unfamiliar that it did not even occur to her to reach out? Or was it because she thought she did not need help at all?

But though he had never claimed to possess any kind of insight to her mind, in that moment Robb knew what she was thinking – the hardness of her eyes told it to him: I am alone among enemies. And that's when Robb learned a fundamental truth about the Princess Myrcella's character that seemed to escape even Sansa's observant eye: whether Baratheon or Lannister, it did not matter. There was a will of iron that gave her momentum and he had seen that same fire in Arya, saw it in Sansa every day. He had it in himself, took strength from it. It was the undiscriminating will to live; total and consuming it made you push harder against every barrier, to preserve oneself and make it through to the other side.

Survivors, he thought, and knew it to be true. We are all broken children of war.

"Don't look at me that way, Princess. You know it would come to this eventually." Oberyn pointed out casually goadingly almost. It did not seem to be working this time though, and Robb had a feeling that Oberyn would lose patience before the princess lost her resolve. "I thought you are a clever girl, Myrcella. So be clever: answer me. They're just words; say them. Did Tywin Lannister order my sister's murder?"

It was very likely that, more than his insistence, it was the demanding tone of Oberyn's voice that drew a reaction from the princess this time. Seeing the way her chin turned up at that, Robb though it was more from defiance than defensiveness that her next words took form.

"I am many things, princes Oberyn, but the keeper of the Red Keep's filthiest secrets is not one of them." The princess said coldly, deliberately. "I don't understand why you seem to be convinced of the contrary."

Oberyn smiled that long, thin smile of his, the one that meant he was enjoying something; the one that preceded violence. Robb started taking the possibility of having to bodily restrain the Red Viper a little more seriously.

"Ah, but you see, you are." And his dark eyes lost all humor, all levity. "A little bird whispered to me that the answers I seek are now walking by my side. You are the only Lannister in this camp. I think you are the one with the answers."

The princess' lips thinned and her eyes narrowed. It was like watching rocks clashing together and ignite the sparks – at least so it seemed, until she got in under control. When she did react, it was with a small smile that could cut glass... and Robb was stunned, because he finally saw something in her that he could recognize, in that little twist of her lips. A sharpness that he recalled from both her mother and father.

He had seen what fierceness looked like on the princess' face, but not like this. Not quite so bitter.

"Varys has always had a flair for the theatrical." The princess deadpanned… and Oberyn actually laughed. It was a laugh so dry that it scrapped against Robb's nerves.

Varys was it? What did they call him?

…the Spider.

"That he has: it distracts people from his more subtle workings. And he never actually helps anyone. He just wanted me focusing elsewhere because I was promising trouble." Oberyn's eyes fixed on the princess and that was a threat if Robb had ever heard any. He had a mind to snap at the prince to tone it the fuck down, because if this dornishman thought Robb would allow this to go any further than mere hints of hostility, then the prince did not know him as well as Oberyn liked to think he did.

Obviously, his tension was felt, because Oberyn instantly turned to him. "Don't worry, my northern friend. I have no intension to cause the princess harm. I only want the truth."

So you keep saying…

But the princess lifted her chin minutely at that, and though it was a small movement, she had been so still all this time that it made that infinitesimal gesture as noticeable as if stone had moved.

"You already know all there is to know. What you want is something I cannot give you." the princes said, for the very first time speaking when she was not spoken to. And from Oberyn's reaction, it was as if her words inflamed him. His attention concentrated on the princess so hard that it might have been a falling avalanche.

"I want the truth." Oberyn countered hotly, insisting on that word as if it was the pinnacle of his being. "I want to hear it from the lips of a Lannister, even if you are the only Lannister available, Princess."

But in the time it took for the prince to speak and the silence to take a breath after his words, the air changed. Oberyn changed.

"Tell me. I know you know." His eyes swam with almost vulnerable emotion, his voice was softer, beseeching, and the contrast it made with the harshness from before was sharp. "I know, not because I was told so, but because I know you, Myrcella, and I know that you are as possessed by the truth as I am …Our blood haunts us."

Robb's eyes snapped on her face. Those words, so softly as they were spoken, had shaken her. There was a frown on her face as she gulped and shook her head in denial… and the gesture made her look smaller somehow, though she was still sitting as straight and stiff as before.

Perhaps it was the helplessness of it. The hesitation in her eyes, the confusion that for a moment became transparent in her face; that small hint of fear…

Robb sensed it, as any predator would smell fresh blood. Oberyn sensed it too… and his reaction made Robb understand perfectly why the princess had been so unmovable before, why she had chosen to be heartless.

"Speak the truth to me. I need it; not knowing, consumes me." And the passion in his voice, was almost encumbering. He looked half crazed with his enthusiasm to just break her apart and Robb felt his muscles tense at the sight of such aggressiveness. Unfortunately for Robb and the princess also, Oberyn was a clever man and did not move an inch in the princess' direction, lest he should give the King in the room a reason to throw him out of it.

Damn the man to seven hells!

"Say it! Gregor Clegane went to his grave admitting every crime had had ever done but this, and until I know the truth I will be a wraith walking this earth. I will never know peace if I can't have the truth."

But he made a mistake in showing her such vicious intent when the princess was giving her first signs of relenting. The instant Oberyn had pushed against her momentary vulnerability, he'd killed it, and with it had died any chance he had had of getting the answers he so desperately longed for. He acted like a warrior would and attacked her at the first crack… when he should have probably gone gently and coaxed her with patience. But patience was a trait that Oberyn was sorely lacking in, especially when he was in such a passion.

Robb saw the princess take a deep breath before she spoke.

"I do not deny that you have the right to the truth, my prince, but it is not in me you should look for it, only because of whose blood flows in my veins." She sounded so sharp it was a wonder they didn't hear something tear at her words. "You have no right to ask me to become a part of something that happened when I had not even been born. I will not, and I never shall."

There was a finality in her tone that brokered no bargaining. She did not seem frail or uncertain then, nor did it seem to matter to her that she was so apparently outnumbered and friendless. She didn't seem to be giving a single fuck about it… which, though admirable, was also bloody reckless!

Oberyn jumped to his feet, stalking about the room like a caged animal, eyes never leaving her for a couple of moments.

It was a strange experience in Robb's opinion, to see how different reactions anger could cause on two such dissimilarly passionate people. Where Oberyn burned as flame, the princess… she seared like ice. Her anger didn't erupt; it accumulated and instead of inflaming her temper, it made her cold and sharp as frostbite. For the first time, Robb saw a glimpse of what was truly dangerous in this woman, sleeping as it was under layers of vibrant dresses and sweet smiles, sharper words and pretty lips. It was not how his mother thought, nor how Sansa had warned. It was not even what he himself had imagined. Perhaps Myrcella Baratheon didn't even realize it herself (he was sure that if she had, she would have been more careful about concealing that part of herself as well), but Robb had known enough killers to never miss the gift for it when he saw it in someone.

So strange, he though absently as he took her in. She is capable such honest sweetness, such true kindness… and yet she is a born hunter. Her fury burned alive behind her eyes, but the rare thing was that she did not lose precision because of it like most; on the contrary, it seemed to focus her, solidify her into firmness and total clarity of purpose. The more Oberyn raged, the angrier she grew at his impudence - and the firmer her answers, her refusal. Robb was starting to think that this whole thing was pointless; the princess would likely never give in. She was patient, and where she had no agency but her own person, her ultimate weapon was control over herself.

…A true predator.

Had Myrcella Baratheon been born a man, on a battlefield she would have been lethal, whether her chosen weapon were sword or lance, teeth or nails[3].

Oberyn stopped his pacing and stood still right in front of the princess' chair. He crouched, so that they were eye to eye and spoke to her as if he was snarling. It was all Robb could do not to grab and shake him.

"You seek the right from me… Where is this 'right'? There is none of it in this world. There was none of it for my sister and her children, why should you and I be any different!"

She looked at Oberyn for long moments, taking in every line made by another year in bitterness, how his anger only heightened his sorrow and how plain it was on his face for her to see. It was as if the Viper of Dorne had placed himself so close so that the princess could have no chance of missing the reaction she was causing him.

"Why now, if I may ask, prince Oberyn?" She asked, sounding as if she truly wanted to know. It took some nerve to ask Oberyn a question like that, or any kind of question, when he was in such a state.

But the Viper answered her truthfully. His passion was proof of that.

"Because now is my last chance! Because before you did not know and now you do. Because before you were a child and now you're not."

The princess looked away from him then, staring ahead, eyes void. She said nothing to that and that silence of hers seemed to anger Oberyn the more it lasted.

Robb wondered when he would know how much was too much. How long should he let this stupidity carry on?

Perhaps he should have stopped it from the beginning.

But the more it went on and the stronger his conviction became that if he intervened now he would only be delaying things and this same conversation would go on in another time, at another place, without Robb there to oversee things… which could not be allowed. Oberyn could be volatile in the best of cases; when his sister was the matter of discussion, the Viper was downright destructive, even to himself. Besides, Robb liked to think that the princess could decide herself which confrontation she could deal with and which ones she could not. She seemed a realist that way: she would not face a danger that she knew she could not overcome.

But Robb should have remembered that the princess was a proud creature as well. What if her pride had made her bite off more than she could chew this time?

"Why won't you give me this one thing?" Oberyn snapped, impatience starting to overrun him. "I am not asking for so much…"

"But you are." The princess countered readily. Her eyes rose and she met Oberyn's rising temper with cold steel. "If the truth is all you wanted, I wonder why you took the trouble of coming so far north. Perhaps it would have been better had you joined one of my uncles. You'd be halfway to King's Landing by now, as all those who have wronged you are there, not here."

Oberyn's entire countenance sharpened. "Oh you think I should have, don't you? So it is to Tywin Lannister's head I must ask for?"

The princess' lips thinned.

"Tywin Lannister's head is to be found on top of his own shoulders, my prince, and so are his crimes, whatever they may be." she said, steadily, though speaking faster than before. "You're welcome to ask the man himself or whoever else you wish. I do not care either way, as long as you leave me out of it."

Oberyn stilled, his lips twitching to draw back as if preparing to snarl.

"Careful Myrcella. No man has ever dared mock me and lived long to tell about it." the prince gritted out, making Robb turn his eyes to glare at the side of the dornishman's face. Idle threats were below him.

But the princess did not wilt, on the contrary, her eyes flared, pools of green fire trapped in her earthly flesh.

"I am no man…[4]"

Robb felt the corner of his lips twitch a little upwards, but he steadied himself quickly. This was not the time. Later, perhaps.

Oberyn on the other hand drew himself up to his full height.

"Very well. If you won't listen to a plea than I will appeal to you in a way that you might understand: you will give me what I want because you owe it to me." The Red Viper's eyes glinted, his teeth were grinding. "What is it they say about Lannisters and debts?"

The princess paled considerably and this time she didn't bother to hide her glare or school it down with self-imposed apathy.

"I owe you nothing." she said hotly between gritted teeth.

"You owe me your life!" Oberyn snapped, his voice cracking harshly, displaying his growing anger. The princess didn't so much as flinch; not even a single eyelash of hers moved.

"No, I do not." The insisted again, as unflappable as ever. "Obara is the one I owe my life to, not you. And I don't see her here, claiming that debt." a small smile twisted her face into a mask of distain. "I wonder why that is."

Though there was nothing in her tone that suggested it; on the contrary. In that moment more than ever the absence of Oberyn's other daughters felt like a chasm in so united a family. Oberyn too saw her words for what they were, and his face showed it.

But it was not the viper of Dorne that spoke back to that, but rather, his most pious-looking daughter.

"Don't be so coy Myrcella. I don't think you wonder about that at all." Tyene Sand said, looking up from her embroidering with an air of complete nonchalance. Her eyes though told a different story. "My sister is a loyal woman. She values boldness and admires bravery… and somehow you have managed to steal her love as well."

The princess' eyes turned to Tyene and for the first time Robb saw feeling on her face, true and undiluted… and it amazed him. Because there was hatred in her eyes when she looked at Tyene Sand, a feeling that ran cold and deep, and as fierce as Robb had ever seen. The intensity of it stunned him, as did the way it changed nothing in her except for how her eyes flared as if torches had been lit inside her skull. Perhaps it seemed so because she was suddenly so very pale. Wildfire green, some said. Robb did not know; he had never seen that strange substance. But he did see the fists the princess had made in her lap, without bothering to hide them anymore… and Robb wondered if perhaps Tyene Sand knew the princess hurts better than Oberyn ever could, and could twist a knife in them much faster than the princess realized.

Or maybe they just plain hated each other and Robb had never noticed before.

"If you think anyone could steal anything from your sister, then perhaps you don't know her as well as you should like." The princess rebuked with a scoff, that twist of her lips so openly mocking… so very familiar all of a sudden.

Robb had seen that little twist of lips that could bite like a fishhook catching on skin. Seen it on her mother's face years ago, a face that for the first time the princess' was starting to resemble more than just a distant echo of familiar coloring.

"If anyone could steal anything from Obara, it would be you." The lady Tyene smiled softly. "To me, that speaks of a certain cruel irony."

"To you, it would." The princess countered, eyes bright with violent feeling, making those simple words sound as disparaging as any insult would… and insult that Robb did not understand but Lady Tyene certainly did. She fixed a hard stare on the princess and just as easy, like a thin glass breaking, the illusion shattered. She was not the chaste maid anymore. She was the viper's daughter.

"Perhaps you can stand to refuse a man his only wish, Princess, and make a mockery of all that is right and just in this world. It does not surprise me that you would. You may sit there and deny my father his due as well… but I dare you to look me in the eye, and say you don't owe me anything." Lady Tyene said as she stood up quietly and moved to sit in the chair that her father had vacated.

Robb kept his eyes on the princess, on how her breathing sped up by just a fraction, how her knuckles were turning whiter than her face. She was unraveling ever so slowly and she wasn't even realizing it. It made him feel the heat of all the unsaid things between these two women, secrets that burned just under the surface. They thickened the air, making it difficult to draw breath.

"Don't you remember how you screamed Myrcella?" the Lady Tyene asked, pleasantly enough to make Robb rethink all that he'd ever known of this woman. "I do. I could never forget it. Remember how I put you back together, wound after wound. How I stayed with you for weeks?"

The princess stared down every word. That sneer on her face was not amusement; it was poison.

"Oh, I forget nothing, Tyene. …I wonder though if you do." Even her voice had changed: not quite so flat, it echoed with purpose, vibrating with all that lay underneath those words that fell from her lips as promises. For the first time the princess was threatening back, Robb realized. She was bone pale, eyes bright as if feverish, but her voice did not shake at all, not for a moment… and Robb wondered if she was fisting her hands so tightly in her lap so that she wouldn't have to wrap them around lady Tyene's throat. By the way they were eyeing each other, Robb took it to be a substantial possibility.

The princess smiled razors. "Go on; ask me." Her words were as soft as her eyes were feral… "Claim your debt."

But it was not an invitation. It was a dare, a threat… and Tyene Sand was too sharp to miss the nature of it, though what surprised Robb was her reaction: The seriousness with which lady Tyene pondered the hazard behind that challenge made Robb wonder of the leverage that the princess was capable of yielding, if even though so alone, she could still make the daughter of a prince think twice about anything.

But Tyene did not pause for long.

"I do claim it, Lannister." she said after a short moment. "I remember a time when you were bleeding on my hands and I saved your life. I demand now that you live up to your name and pay your debt, as the only form of honor you understand demands of you."

Insults veiled could cut as sharp as those bluntly stated, Robb knew that, and for someone like him who found himself clumsy with the subtleties of word-games, the veiled ones were much more irritating. But the princess was not of that kind. She smirked and just like that, she put on her revulsion with the whole situation as if it had been a mask she had been hiding under her sleeve.

Amazing how much she could let show when she wanted to be understood…

"I remember too, Tyene. I remember that I was not the only one to bleed on your hands that day, and mine were not the only screams." The princess said evenly, her effort in restrain costing her that carefully schooled indifference. "And we both know that keeping me alive was only necessary because you were stupid enough to almost get me killed."

Lady Tyene narrowed those smoky eyes at the princess. "Don't try to trick me, Myrcella. I taught you how to play." She warned, speaking to the princess as if she were a child.

"No, you didn't. You taught me how to deceive." The princess countered, vehement enough to make Robb believe it. "And this is not me tricking you – which is the wrong word for us, by the way; it seems to imply we have a playful relationship[5]. This is me telling you that by all accounts, the debt you seek to claim from me has already been paid."

Robb had to admit it: Sansa could not have said it more accurately when she had told him that the princess was as slippery as an eel in water. Lannister princess – only keeping the promises that suited her, and slipping past others. The realization left a rather unwilling taste of disappointment in his mouth, though by all accounts, the princess had never made him any promise on that.

But Tyene had not opened all her cards just yet. And Robb could see by the twist of her face that she was about to yield harsher words than before.

He was soon proved right.

"Really, Myrcella… for someone that strives so hard to build an identity, you are strangely devoid of any foundation of character. You were never a Baratheon; you can never be dornishwoman, though Obara and Elia love to waste their time by indulging you; and now you refuse even to be a proper Lannister." Tyene smiled sweetly, as she played with the ends of her sleeve as if the topic was utterly inconsequential. "Honestly, the only thing left for you to be is a… what is it that they call children born out of wedlock in the crownlands? Waters, is it not?" Tyene's entire face seemed to lighten, as if she found the idea rather amusing. "If you refuse to live by a code - any code - then you become the only kind of bastard there is, my dear: one without family, rules, honor or worth. …Is that who you really are?"

Robb knew that speaking insults with a pleasant smile on ones face did not sweetened their taste; and yet the princess' face was so frozen that he thought for a moment she had not understood Lady Tyene at all… or perhaps understood too well, and in understanding, something inside her seemed to hurt. He had thought it impossible before, but the princess paled even more. The only part of her that resembled something alive anymore were her eyes, bright and shiny in deep-set groves.

Her words though, proved him wrong, even though they were spoken dispassionately. She was very much alive… and furious as well. So much so that as she spoke, she almost snarled.

"You people… Baratheons, Lannisters, Martells…" her deep green eyes passed by his as well and though she did not say it, Robb felt included in that list… and he too felt the prickle of her ire like frostbite. "None of you seem to realize a very simple truth: I don't give a crow's shit about any of your words or rules. I will be whatever the hell I chose to be… and you and your truths and debts can all go fuck yourselves."

At every ferociously-spoken word, Robb's amazement grew and by the time she was done, he could feel his eyebrows make a jump for his hairline, but he kept himself in line. Of all the ways this could have gone… But there she sat though, so primly spouting off obscenities, her smile mocking, all teeth and burning satisfaction even as she was breathless from the iron self-restraint she was under… it made Robb wonder if she bit off every word because she did daren't let herself speak louder, lest she should start screaming at them.

"You can thank Obara for that." The princess added, knowing she was twisting the knife in the wound harder and harder, until Oberyn's daughter grimaced to hold back her wrath, something which the princess enjoyed without the barest hint of shame or apology. "Now go ahead and to build your schemes around that, if you can."

"This is no scheme, Princess, though I do not fault you for being unable to think in simpler terms." Lady Tyene said, though admittedly, she spoke in plainer tone than before. "And try to remember that it is not through any fault of mine that you're angry now, I only spoke of what I see to be true. If you don't like it, then you alone can change yourself."

How very neat, Robb found himself thinking, not without a touch of contempt. What Lady Tyene proposed was such a clean break: 'I offended you and you got angry because it's true and truth hurts; so give me what I want now and prove yourself different, prove me wrong.'

Deftly played… Except it took one look at the princess' face and her smile that seemed to be carved in it, to make Robb understand he was not the only one to see those words for what they hid.

"If I were as devoid of worth and moral bounds as you think me to be, Tyene… I would know the taste of you blood by now." The princess murmured slowly, turning those violent eyes to lady Tyene's face. "You seem confused. Allow me to explain – I shall use small words for your benefit this time. A life for a life: you saved mine and in turn I forgave you yours for endangering me in the first place. And afterwards… when I found out the truth about that day in the desert…" the princes took a deep breath and that was the only tremble in her tone. The only one.

"Obara made me promise. She too called me a Lannister and demanded her due. I didn't bleed for you and save your life, she said to me, so you could murder my sister. She made me swear in blood and fire that I wouldn't kill you… and so my debt would be paid." The princess leaned in, not so much as Oberyn had before, or even his daughter, but that small gesture she made seemed somehow more imposing on the rest of the room, because the princess had chosen to be stone… and stone was not supposed to breathe or feel of even move. When she did, it was amplified. "That is the only reason I allow you to still breathe in my presence. …So you see, the Lannister in me might have just saved your life, therefore I suggest you take care the next time you strive to provoke me by denying me my worth."

The satisfaction she felt as she spoke twisted her face into something dark… much more so than Robb felt he had been prepared to face from her. His eyes looked at her then… and saw a different creature. Why had he ever felt he knew this woman?

But the silence stretched and this time, it was Tyene that could not seem to break it. For some reason, that seemed to amuse the princess in a very crude way.

"What is it? You really thought I wouldn't try to find out what happened that day in the desert? You did, didn't you?" but the idea dint amuse her anymore. It angered her. "It never even occurred to you that I would not have rested without finding out the truth of it. But your father is right, Tyene: I am just as obsessed by the truth, that ugly whore, as he is."

The princess had such a vacant smile on her face that it seemed almost a snarl and in that moment she looked as maniacal as Oberyn had before her, though her unnaturally even way of speaking made her into a much more disturbing sight.

"I choked on every breath until I found out. I understood the reason why my death was so demanded… but why Trystane? I could not see the sense of it: why kill a prince of Dorne?" The princess took a deep breath to steady herself perhaps. Her pulse-point was hammering; Robb saw the flutter of it on her neck. Had she loved then, before? All about her in this moment told him that the answer to that was yes. Loved and lost… and hated for it too.

"And then I understood… there was no sense to it at all. Gerold Dayne never possessed any of it. He was just angry that Trystane was standing in the way." The princess stopped and perhaps it was so that she could assess the effect of her words. Tyene Sand didn't give it away easily, but then again, she didn't say anything else either. She just gulped and kept her face still.

"Look at you, standing so unmoved… so arrogant." The princess mocked, and that did get a reaction: Lady Tyene scowled. "As if we don't both know that it was you who suggested the Darkstar for your little plot. Arianne, stupid as she may have been, had enough sense to fear him… my beautiful dark blunder, she called him." And her lips thinned with her resentment then, though the princess spoke as if she felt nothing and saw no one but Tyene herself. "Pretty faces were ever her weakness. But she trusted you above all others, and it was you who convinced her to put her faith in the wrong man… because you knew he was the kind of man that would most likely kill me outright, didn't you? Was that how you planned to push prince Doran's hand and drag Dorne in the War of Five Kings? By killing a princess?"

Tyene immediately straightened, and whether it was in annoyance or contempt, Robb could not tell. "Tywin Lannister started a war when his Imp was abducted. He would have done the same for his niece. 'no man sheds Lannister blood without retribution', remember?"

Robb blinked back his surprise. Well, these two seemed to be competing for who had the boldest nerve. There she stood, the daughter of a prince of Dorne, admitting crimes of kidnapping and attempted murder of a royal, and she spoke of it as if it was nothing. But the admission seemed funny to the princess: she chuckled though it was a sound so hollow it raised the hair on the back of Robb's neck… and he sensed that she meant to be unnerving, or at least, that she would be pleased to known she was. He had always sensed goodness in her, kindness… and now for the first time he was seeing the other side of it: the uncompromising totality in her, a sense of relentlessness that told him she would see this through to whatever end; that she had made that choice the moment she asked him to step aside and let her deal with this alone. And Robb knew from the gleam in the princess' eye that she was not short of cruelty she could deal out to meet that end she wanted, nor would she hesitate to inflict it.

Something somewhere had cracked her. Tyene had done it, though perhaps she might wish she hadn't.

"Of course. Abduct. That has a nicer ring to it than murder, I suppose. But then again, so many things change in the desert. After all what's one more dead child, a few more massacred knights?" The princess' voice lowered, thickened. "I wonder though, what did prince Doran have to say when they told him that his daughter's ambition and stupidity ended up killing his son." her smile was cruel then, a twist of the knife in the wound. "Does your most beloved cousin even know, Tyene, that you lied to her? That you knew the Darkstar would want feed me steel instead, and kept it from her?"

Tyene was quick to rise to it. "So clever. You've' always been so clever Myrcella, but you cannot manipulate the truth into what it's not. What we did was senseless I admit, but Arianne never… I could not have…"

"Liar." The princess hissed intensely… but a breath later she was collected, and smiling daggers again and her voice lost that sizzling breathlessness, but not that arresting intensity. "You always twitch your ring finger when you lie… and I remember you screaming at him to yield, to stop. I remember you telling him to come back and let the Darkstar have me, right before he got an arrow shoved through his eye socket."

Tyene jumped to her feet, sudden and shaking, her ire molding that gentle face into a more recognizable version of her fierce sisters. "Don't you speak to me about Trystane. He was a brother to me, I loved him!"

"You killed him." The princess countered coldly, deliberately, teeth grinding against her wrath. "And had it not been for your sister, I would have carved your heart out with a dull blade for it. …How dare you ask me for anything and call me unworthy?"

The Lady Tyene flushed at those words, and then, once their meaning truly set in, her anger flared so bright that the lady who was usually such a calm and gentle-looking sight, shook from her ire. Robb saw with the corner of his eye that Oberyn, who so far had been strangely silent, now stepped forward, in range of his daughter if he should need to restrain her.

"You shut your mouth!" Tyene spit out with astounding malice, her voice rising as she started to lose her temper. "What do you know? It's your fault he died in the first place! He was never even meant to be there! Yours was the only blood that was supposed to be spilled that day."

The princess lifted her chin at that.

"It was, remember? You keep repeating how you saved my life."

Tyene stared the princess down for moments that felt very long, before she too realized that there would be no bending her, not any way, whether by threat or guile. That realization passed between the two women like a lightning bold, connecting them in a moment of perfect understanding of one another; and where Tyene took a step back, admitting her retreat, the princess only looked on. If she felt any triumph for being undefeated, she did not show it. Her eyes were cold the planes of her face so harsh that instead of lovely, it made Robb think of sharp things he might cut his palms against.

After an exchanged look with her father, Tyene turned back on the princess and smirked, shaking her head a little…

"Oh, you're good, Myrcella. You really are." Tyene said in an ambiguous tone that bordered between spiteful and acknowledging. Something perhaps, that fell on the dark side of respect. "But I know what your heart's desire is and I tell you this: you will never get it." Something like dark triumph lit those smoky viper eyes and the glittered with noxious loathing like cold moonstones. Robb felt the chill of it seal into the very air of the room. It had been a while since he had been in the presence of such open hatred. "I wish you a lonely life, Myrcella and I'm sure you'll have it, because you don't believe in anything and nobody will ever believe in you." Tyene chuckled, a dark sound that invited a scream. "You will forever be the wanderer without a or a name to can your own, without anyone who cares for you and anything you hold dear, because, my dear princess, you don't have enough heart to love anyone better than you love yourself."

After such venom, the silence that fell made Robb's ears ring and he found himself, strangely, almost anxious when he looked at the princess - anxious that is, for her reaction. There was something within him that told him he would not be able to stand himself if he saw tears in her eyes after this.

He should have known better.

It had taken nothing less than a direwolf a breath away from tearing her apart to reduce her to tears. When he saw her face so frozen into that impassive mask, as unaffected as if all of Tyene's words had been wind, he realized that perhaps the princess thought nothing but the certainty of death deserved her tears after all.

It might have been the bravest thing he'd seen in a while…

But then the princess smirked – and there it was: the difference between them. She didn't stop at bravery, or dignity. She wanted retaliation as well and judging by that look on her face, she was not so far from pushing back with the same viciousness that came to shove at her. Had Robb been in her position… perhaps he would have too. But there was that gleam in her eyes that reminded Robb of the marked difference between them: where he would probably call it justice and stop once it had been done… she would call it vengeance, and exact the full measure of it, until her satisfaction was met.

But when she did speak, the princess' voice was much softer, conversational. Irritatingly devoid of emotion, enough to make the contrast with Tyene's over-brimming passion painfully obvious.

"What you just did, Tyene, I believe is called 'shadowing'." She explained as if she had not just had been screamed and cursed against. "I am told that it is a coping mechanism: you defend yourself against unpleasant impulses by taking your negative qualities and attributing them to someone else. It's quite common, I believe; my mother does it all the time. …You've always reminded me of her – perhaps that's why we get along so well."

It was plain by the way Lady Tyene's face twisted that this was either an old insult the full connotations of which Robb did not understand, or that the princess had known exactly how to insult Tyene, just about as well as Tyene knew how to get her to unravel. Either way, the Lady Tyene pressed her lips together in a thin line and made to step forward, eyes alight with rage. Robb made to stand, and he saw with the corner of his eye that Oberyn too had moved to catch his daughter and hold her back lest she should do something they would all regret.

But neither was fast enough.

"Go ahead." The princess invited around a dark chuckle as she caught lady Tyene's movement. There was a certain savage satisfaction in her expression then… and it did not lessen with the high-octane tension of the moment. "We'll see which one of us dies first, now that I'm not a child for you to abuse anymore."

Robb gave her a look full of disbelief, but nothing he saw in her face made him think that the princess was speaking aimlessly. Had Lady Tyene taken another step towards her, there probably would have been blood. Her green eyes told him that she would do it a heartbeat and enjoy it.

But the silence and the stillness kept and nobody moved long enough for some of the tension to relax and the moment to pass. That was when, quite unexpectedly, the princess herself got up.

"Well then, I think this should count as closure, my prince. And if it does not, then that sounds like an issue you might want to take up with your favorite god. You have abused my patience me in every possible way and cannot possibly have anything further to say to me."

And this time the princess did not bother to even look at him, let alone ask for permission to retire as she had unfailingly done ever since Robb had met her. That perhaps more than anything else about her demeanor told Robb just how out of sorts she was at the moment (that, or that she was angry with him as well), though she did not look it at all. She seemed as calm as still water, and if her eyes had not looked so fierce, Robb might even have believed it.

Just as she was leaving however, Oberyn made his final mistake. He stepped into the princess' path and Robb could tell from the look on his face that he did not intend at all to question her further. He seemed indeed to want to make peace; there was an appeasing expression that shaped his features into conciliatory expression, it showed… but apparently the princess didn't seem to yield in front of it. Perhaps it should speak of how much out of sorts she was beneath that harsh, unchanging appearance; perhaps she had no mind to ever forgive what happened here today. Either way, she did not step back when her way was blocked nor did her expression change a hairsbreadth. Robb was paying such close attention that he saw even the shiver that made her back stand straighter; she looked Oberyn in the eye with the full measure of her ferocity… and gave him the most empty smile Robb had ever seen.

It was a terrible thing to behold.

"Right, I almost forgot. This is my favorite part." But the acidity of her words was so virulent if could burn holes though steel. "Should I turn my other cheek for you, prince of Sunspear? You dornishmen seem to have a special fondness for my face after all."

Oberyn frowned deeply at her words, both offended and annoyed at them, at what she implied. But the princess did not leave him room to answer.

"No? Well, I suggest you make up your mind: either carve me up some more or step aside, because frankly, this conversation got redundant ten minutes ago and boredom suits me ill."

Oberyn's frown turned into a glare for a moment, but then he too smiled and in comparison, Oberyn meant it. It was not false, that note of respect that rang in his eyes, in that small smile. Though bitter, it was real.

The princess didn't give any sign of noticing it however. She kept walking and didn't look back for a moment, opening the door and without bothering to close it behind herself.

Princesses never did after all, did they?

ooo

She could hardly seeing where she was walking. All that passed in front of her eyes were walls, stone, windows blurring colors. She was blinking so fast, that too was a hindering factor besides the fact that she was… she was… fuck, but she was furious enough to tear apart the whole world and dance on the ashes like a mad woman!

I hate her! I hate her more than I have ever hated anyone!

And it was true. Myrcella had tasted hate often these past few years and had always tried to keep it under control, under a very tight supervision. She had never wanted to be blinded by it… To her, hatred had never come without a cost. Myrcella did not invest such emotion for just anyone. Most of the people that caused her to feel that way, were people that she had once held close and that had hurt her. All those that she hated, she had at one point or another loved with the same intensity.

Tyene had been the same. That is, until Myrcella had learned the truth of her nature.

That cursed spawn; a harpy from the deepest pits of hell.

Tyene was not easy to hate either. Myrcella didn't want to hate her. She just wanted to kill her.

But that promise made over such dire circumstances stayed her hand, and in situations like this, when Tyene was ben on reminding her just how much she was worth her loathing and every way which she earned it, Myrcella felt the chains of that promise bind her so tight her bones might snap.

Gods, I could choke on all this anger…

And once she realized that, Myrcella leaned a hand against the cold stone of the hallway and took a deep breath with closed eyes. She tried to calm down, to get her bearing again… but her ribcage felt like it was being gnawed by some beast trapped there that wanted out.

Enough! Enough already…

Myrcella dug her nails in the unyielding stone, felt them catch and felt the bite of pain. It focused her at just the right amount. Enough for the next breath not to catch on the scream lodged in her throat. Enough for her to gain control of her senses again; not to feel overwhelmed by them. Enough to feel the musty air around her, the scent of rain from the open window and the little draft of the hallway. The weight of her shoes, her hair, her dress, her boots and the daggers stripped on her person.

Think of something happy. Think of Tommen in the shade of the great trees of the Red Keep, with his kittens. Think of the Watergardens…

She didn't dare think of Trystane, though his smile did flash behind her eyelids without her permission… and then her throat caught for a different reason.

'Fuck them. What do they know? What did they ever know of us? Nothing.' She allowed herself to remember sometimes, how it had felt when he had taken her hand so gently, and kissed her knuckles. 'Only you and I matter to you and I.[6]'

He'd told her that the day before he got killed. It was how he had convinced her to let sir Aerys take him with them, despite what Princess Arianne had wanted. And because she had been a silly girl charmed with his dark eyes and sweet smiles, Myrcella had insisted. She had wanted her princes with her. He always brought her happiness and in him Myrcella had always found solace… and she had fought on and on for his coming, insisted like a spoiled little brat that she was. Starfall will feel so lonely without him, she'd thought.

And he'd died.

It wasn't true that only Tyene had killed him, in her heart Myrcella knew that. They all had killed him. Arianne, playing the game of thrones like a drunkard rolling dice[7]. Tyene, with her unconditional hatred and her indifference to murder. Myrcella too, for not running fast enough, for not being smart enough, for not being Lannister enough, thinking with her heart and trusting the wrong people! She could have saved his life if she'd known sooner that you're supposed to kill your enemies, not befriend them. (Sometimes she willingly forgot that, had she been such a person, perhaps she would not have had such feelings of regret at all. But she was not so accomplished in actually being as cold as she seemed.)

Myrcella knew that she could have saved his life when, as their caravan got attacked, she'd had taken his advice and ridden hard away from the plain. But she had not. She got scared, called for help. But Aerys died, Trystane died. All her guard too, slaughtered like dogs, and even a few of Ariane's – she who had ended up sprawled in the hot sand, screaming and heaving in horror at the sight of her dead little brother.

She remembered only small bits of it after that, fractions as if she was remembering a nightmare. She had screamed so much, Obara had told her months later. The whole desert had shivered with her screams, but Myrcella did not remember them. She remembered pain and blood and burning sun and stones. She remembered Obara pulling her from under Trystane's corpse and telling her to run. 'Ride like a demon, or you'll be dead.' And Myrcella had. She had ridden hard and for what had felt like days, but must have only been only hours. She remembered getting caught , tears and screams… and the Darkstar's smile as he threw her down and played with her like a cat does with a mouse, all of his 'fuck you bloody' as he trapped herunder his immense weight and ripped her clothes, hitting her hard enough to splinter bones; Myrcella had been born the maps of it for weeks… She remembered his blade making small cuts, the steel eating away at her ear little by little, till a mutilated stump was left. The blinding pain she'd felt had been a shock; she was a princess - she'd never known true pain until that day. But each time she'd fainted, he hit her and made her wake.

And yet even through all of that, his voice had still rung clear in her ears, it still did, so far away from Dorne and years later.

'Look at me. Look here, Lannister. This is how you start wars[8]' he'd said close to her face, sliding the flat of his knife against her cheek… he'd laughed as he cut her to the bone.

There were those who said she had been lucky that he saw fit to play with her before killing her. He'd been half delusional from the heat and the poison of his wounds where Obara's spear had cut him; where Nymeria's gaggers had buried themselves. Had he been saner perhaps he would have killed her the moment he got his hands on her. Lucky, they said, that he preferred to carve her up a little 'like warm pie'.

'You won't be so pretty anymore, Lannister.'

Obara's spear through his gut had quickly put an end to that, however. But Myrcella had not seen it.

Why are you doing this to yourself?

Why? Why was she remembering all this? Myrcella closed her eyes tightly against the tears that threated her. Were they of anger, or frustration, or plain heartbreak, she did not know, could not tell. Her feelings were in that moment woven together so tightly that she could not untangle them. Anger crushed them all though and perhaps the tears were the way of it spilling out of her, when she could hardly contain it any longer.

It hurt. Gods, it hurt like being torn form the inside.

…forever be the wonderer without a home and without a name, without anyone who cares for you and anything you hold dear…

…nobody will ever believe in you…

Damn her! Damn her to the deepest, cruelest hell for seeing, for understanding. For being so cruel.

I hate her!

And there is was, the whisper of her darkest heart.

Kill her… you know how to do it. You know you could. Who would ever care? You won't see the Snakes ever again. Why would you care for a lost friend halfway across the continent where she will never think of you again? Kill her, kill her, rip her apart!

Myrcella bit her lip so hard that the inside of it broke and let her have a taste of her own blood.

I can't. I can… but I won't. I promised and I keep my promises.

I do. I will. Fuck her and what she thinks she knows. I keep my promises!

How she wished to heave and shout. To scream to high heaven and shatter hell. It hurt that much to contain so many feelings and be so still, so quiet.

So vulnerable…

The feel of it was something Myrcella hated beyond all things. Something she never wished to feel, yet there it was. In the face of such aimless rage, she was forced into helplessness once again. And it brought her right back to where she'd first known it, because the memory of it had been brought too far in the surface for her mind not to catch at it now when she was so exposed, like a hook catches a fish. And she remembered, clearly, how it felt to be pressed beneath a body, dead and alive, against stones hot enough to scorch. What it felt to be tied, to be held down, to be breathless, helpless, lost. The pain and every wincing nerve. Even now the air had scream smears on it. She flinched from the noise in the silent hall.[9]

Stop it!

Anger at her own foolishness had always been what got her out of these self-induced moments of weakness.

Stop acting like a child! You are a princess, you are a survivor. Act like it!

It was easier than it looked, than it first seemed, it really was. There: one breath, then another, and another, until the next did not catch. One step, then another, and another, until you could see where you were going again. She smoothed out the front of her dress as she walked, passed a hand through her hair, fixed her braid over her shoulder, made sure it still securely covered her ear. Routine movements, one after another. Focused outwards on something else, anything else: the chill, the scent of food, the voices. It all came to her as if form far away but the further she walked, the clearer the picture became. She was coming back, little by little.

She could not go on acting as if she was alone. She was never alone.

It's not so hard, remember? You've done it hundreds of times.

The first step is the hardest, she knew. Once she had taken that, the others were just a question of repeating. To put distance between herself and her emotions when they raged so furious inside her was like trying to out splinters under your nails, but it was not impossible. Indeed, it was when she was most proud of herself for being able to control them, so in a way, it was a challenge. And Myrcella knew the tricks: she focused in everything out of herself; took in every detail about her surroundings and focused on them with all her might, allowing her feelings to fade in the distances, to quieten until she could control them, even them out, separate them, deal with them and finally lock them away. For now, she would ignore them. Door after door, she closed them and walked on. There would be time later, in her room.

Where…

She recognized the hall as she looked about. Her feet had taken her without her conscious thought to the only place she knew her way around. She saw the open double doors in the distance and made for the open air. She would go riding, Myrcella decided in that moment – or was it realized. Somehow it seemed that this was where she had been heading towards from the moment she stepped out of that godforsaken room. She wanted to ride bareback across the Riverlands, feel the wind and the freedom that flying allowed her. She wanted to breathe and this castle was crushing her…

Yes, I will go riding…

"Your grace!"

Myrcella stopped short, tried hard not to close her yes, not to hiss. Not to seem impatient. It was nobody's fault but Oberyn's fixation and Tyene's malice that she had lost her temper. She told herself to remember it.

I will not be a fool.

So Myrcella turned and met sir Brynden's rough smile with a polite one of her own. It did her no good, the old knight saw through her immediately. His frown told him so.

"Are you well, princess? You look pale."

Do I? "I am well, thank you sir. Perhaps it's the closed quarters. I would like some fresh air."

The knight smiled and with a simple 'allow me to escort you, your grace', he offered his arm, and Myrcella saw no harm in taking it. It was always better to be seen in the company of esteemed men, and sir Brynden was a noble man and a Tully predisposed kindly towards her, in a place where Tullys seemed to openly hate her. He was a true knight too, all said; the last of his kind, same as sir Barristan and, in Myrcella's mind at least, sir Aerys as well. He leant honor[10] to any man or woman he decided was worth his time. Myrcella focused on that.

That distraction too helped quell her emotions. It was easier when she was not alone. But when she said of her plans to go riding, the old knight seemed troubled.

"It's not wise to go alone, princess. Peace has been done by the kings, but the land is not quite so safe yet. Allow me and a few of my men to come with you. Or anyone else you might be more comfortable with."

Or maybe he just wanted her to be guarded so that she did not attempt anything underhand, as an enemy might. But then if it was so, why give her the pick of the litter?

Because you're all alone up here silly. It doesn't matter who you chose. None of them are yours.

But she was so tired of pretending. Enough for one day, she told herself. So what if he wanted her guarded? I don't care. Myrcella sighed, tuned to look at the old knight and found herself giving him her first true smile. She saw that her expression surprised him. She felt very fragile in that moment, so violently was she bruin on the inside still, so very exposed. He must have sensed it.

"I do not wish to disturn Dacey only for a ride; and in her place, I cannot think of anyone else in the hands of whom I'd rather put my safety on than you, sir." Her smile tried to take on a playful turn then, though Myrcella knew from experience that she was too tired to be truly convincing at it. "Though I warn you, I ride hard. Your men better be able to keep up."

Sir Brynden barked a laugh.

"Aye, I know. Half the King's army saw you race with the Sand Snakes, and told the other half." he said with a chuckle and he nodded to himself, his face telling her of his appreciation though his tongue did not. He was not one to give away many compliments this knight. Myrcella liked that very much.

And that was how, by focusing on the outside world and letting go of that monstrously egotistical way she felt her own pain, Myrcella fond that the thirst for blood and hurt that her emotions had, quelled and quieted in the background. Her skin was still tingling, but she did not feel quite so much on the edge of eruption anymore. She had stepped away from the edge… and it had been done so easily because she had quit looking down to the abyss and being fascinated with it.

"They told me no man in the north rides half so well as the southern princess." Sir Brynden said, and there was something in his tone that made Myrcella understand the joke in that statement: they might say that, but they did not like it, apparently. "I'd like to see what those words are worth."

She smiled wanly. "Only half of what people usually say is true, sir… the trick is deciding which half."

Sir Brynden chuckled again and Myrcella enjoyed the sound of it. Perhaps this knight really was as true voices made him to be; he certainly laughed like he meant it.

So Myrcella forgave him for nearing her to the table where some men were gathered, eating the last of their dinner. The courtyard was filled with them, and most were still on the table, while others were already going about their business. One look told her that they were some bannermen, important lords and minor ones, riverlords and squires. The company was mixed, but that she was in the middle of it made her instantly the center of their attention for a moment, as she was left alone while sir Brynden chose his men to escort her in her ride through the riverlands.

Myrcella took a deep breath and composed herself. She did not know how well put together she looked, but for the moment, she could not bring herself to care. That part had shivered away in Tyene's face when Myrcella had told her to fuck off. She was done caring for today. Tomorrow… she would be more sensible tomorrow.

Just don't think on it so much.

When the silence fell around her though, Myrcella stilled as well. Immediately she thought she had done something wrong, that she was the cause for such open stares… but one look around her and she learned that she was not. What she saw when she turned almost stopped her heart.

The direwolf.

Huge and smoky grey, with molten gold in his eyes as he trotted towards her. Myrcella felt her breath catch in fear, but she held her ground, this time, just like last time. The creature approached her slowly though, as if he knew how much she was afraid of him, and perhaps that was true. His head bowed, just like it had when the King had 'introduced' them in the woods. As if to warn her he was not going to attack. Its last steps were careful and cautious, and Myrcella remembered as the larger-than-life wolf approached her; she remembered what she must do, and a recklessness that sometimes boiled over in her blood took her, a rebellion that flooded her veins when she felt she had nothing to lose and wanted to break free of all cages.

She reached her hand forward, slowly and palm up… and felt her heart almost give out when the creature pressed his warm snout in it, smelled her and her wrist, and then gave her a palm lick for good measure, like any dog would. It made Myrcella shiver… and then chuckle. She hoped that the edge of hysteria was not so noticeable in that laugh.

The wolf sat down on his haunches and looked at her in a manner that was eerily expectant.

What? She wondered. What do you want?

But then she remembered. He may be a beast from horrifying tales, but he's still an animal. Of course he wanted food. So she stepped close to the table and took a piece of dried meat, offered it, trying to keep her hand from shaking. What if he takes my hand as well as the meat? It was a thought that occurred her too late, only when the wolf had already taken the treat form her hand. The care with which he did it astounded her into another laughter; as if he had lips and was using them, she thought. How very strange. How very extraordinary!

She became aware that the courtyard was fallen into tomb-like silence only too late, so taken she had been with the wolf and her fear of him and her daring against it. But when she did feel the dozens of eyes on her back and on her face, Myrcella felt the pressure of it.

She looked at the wolf, dared reach out again. Waited for it to choose whether or not he wanted to be petted, waited for it to near his big head to her and lower it a bit, so that she might scratch him behind one ear… and he did. All the while she thought, 'why are they all looking at you?' as if the wolf could hear and answer back. He did not of course, because nobody was looking at him alone, even when he tossed his great head and gave her hand another lick.

They are looking at us, aren't they? What a strange sight we must be to them…

And they were: strange and placeless: the direwolf and the Lannister. It would not be so different from now when she married their King would it? They would always look at her as if she had taken a place that did not belong to her, that for which she had no place, no claim. As if she was an abnormality in their world.

Forever the oddity, the exclusion… you're constant in that, at least, she told herself, even though she was feeling her anger rising, her bitterness setting in. As if I chose it. I did not!

The moment she felt her ire become part of the surface of her skin, the direwolf looked up at her with startlingly intelligent eyes, as if he could smell her emotions right out of the air as he could smell blood. They said that animals scented your fear. Perhaps they could scent your other feelings as well. …But those golden eyes were strange. Too knowing for any animal to possess. It made shivers of discomfort race up and down Myrcella's spine.

Then she realized that she was staring at a direwolf's eyes as if they might hold the secrets of the world, and she smiled at her silliness. She was being fanciful. Strange that she never was so as a child, when such things might be called normal, and she was being so now. Perhaps this was a late phase of her development that was finally catching up with her.

"He likes you, your grace."

Myrcella smiled as she looked up to find Dacey Mormont over her, in full armor. The other woman was smiling widely.

"To my great relief, at least he does not dislike me. It's a start." Myrcella said, as she straightened. Just as she did, the direwolf got on his four feet and after a last bump of his head against her side, he bounced away to his own place, leaving Myrcella staring after him in half amazement.

"I was told you are going riding." Dacey hinted. Of course hse would know.

"It was a spur of the moment decision. You are welcome to join us, of course. After all, you're my shield."

Dacey's smile, if possible got even wider. "That I am. I shall go have my horse saddled."

Myrcella looked around for sir Brynden then, trying to see him. She caught sight of his black-scaled armor at the corner of the courtyard. Their eyes met and the knight nodded, so Myrcella took that to mean he had found his men and turned to leave with Dacey for the stables. But she had not made two steps away from the tables set in the cobblers when she felt her shoulder bump hard with another and just as she steadied her step and turned to see who had been so careless… she saw the hidden smirk and knew the face.

Her blood boiled to the surface so fast it made her think she had only fooled herself in believing she was any calmer than she had been when she had left that room and Tyene's words behind.

Why, you little shit.

This time though, it took only Myrcella one moment to decide her course of action. Just one, a single breath, a heartbeat. There was no doubt in her, no hesitation. She schooled her features into impassiveness for her own purpose and she did have the strength and patience to do it. She felt herself sharpen and all the void places inside her that her anger had exhausted filled now with new, vicious purpose.

This time, there would be no fucking about.

Her eyes pinned him and held him, and Myrcella saw the sneer die a little on that long face. The same face of the same man that some nights ago had pushed her into the ground in front of a hall full of the most important people of the north and the Riverlands.

The same idiot.

She felt a little disappointed with the lack of variety. But one fool would be enough to make her point.

Aemon Frey sat his ass down on the table as if nothing had happened, right next to where she was standing, and then looked up at her with that complacent look on his face. He seemed to think as if he had singlehandedly won the war… but Myrcella noticed how her expression stopped him, how her eyes caught his and held them and that smirk died little by little on his face. She knew how she looked. Seeing his surprise now made her think that perhaps she had not made such a mistake in giving them their southern princess like a useless flower that night.

He won't know what hit him now.

"Tell me, boy, what is your name? I forget." Though she had not. The sternness in her voice cut him. What she had implied ruffled his poor feathers though, to her delight.

"I am no boy, lady, but Aemon of house Frey, younger brother to the heir of the Twins…" His eyes told her of his arrogance, his posture of his opinion. That look on her face though… It made her smile internally, fueled her fire, to know she would be whipping it out any moment now.

Myrcella raised one eyebrow. "Younger brother? Perhaps you should try for specificity: I am told there are many of your sort in house Frey." she saw the frown settle on his mousy face, enjoyed it; saw him open his mouth, stopped him. "Never mind, it doesn't matter. So tell me, Aemon of House Frey… for whom are you squiring?"

He looked surprised that she should know. As if there was anything else a boy like him could be doing. Younger brother to the heir mean the son of the Lord of the Twins. What else could he be but a knight in the making?

"For Brynden Tully." Was his answer. His teeth was starting to grind together already and she saw his hand twitching for his belt. Knew he wouldn't dare.

"Truly? Then I cannot account for your bad manners, boy. Are you not close enough to a great man to learn from his example?"

Her so open distain made his eyes widen and the anger grow behind them. Oh, come on Aemon of House Frey, I need to vent a little; don't make this so easy.

"Bad manners? Why you mistake me, surely - I just didn't see you there; one does not expect such fine a lady to be walking about among men. I beg your pardon though, lady Lannister. "

Do you now?

But instead of rolling her eyes at his predictability, she only smiled, pleasantly, though she was sure it was sharp enough to straighten a man's spine a little.

"Lady Lannister? You're not very bright, are you? There has not been a Lady Lannister in over twenty years. …And I will accept your apology when it's properly given."

Aemon of house Frey tightened his lips in an expression that was supposed to be intimidating. It might have worked better if he had not been sitting his ass down still, in a misguided attempt to offend her, undoubtedly, and if Myrcella had been a different person.

As it was, it only amused her.

"We don't apologize to lions up here; we kill them." He said, openly mocking. Careless, even. "That is the best you will get from me, girl.

Myrcella allowed herself to look amused. "'Girl?' You should have stopped at Lannister[11]." But she was bored now, and impatient for this man's blood. "Sir Brynden!"

Her voice was not so raised, but it was so silent in the courtyard that it was heard over the entirety of it. it might not have been needful: Brynden Tully was closer than she had expected, side by side with Dacey, and looking pissed off enough to make Myrcella think that, had it been not for her having a conversation with Aemon Frey, those tightly clenched fist would the Blackfish was sporting would have already smashed in Aemon Frey's insolent little moth.

"I think your squire needs a sharp lesson in manners, sir. May I have your permission?"

The old knight was surprised, but the severity in Myrcella's tone, the gravity of her eyes left no room for true dissention. Instead, the Blackfish even smiled at her.

"You do it or I will, princess."

Myrcella let her smile widen a fraction, before turning her head and focusing on her sole objective now. She felt her heartbeat drum into steadiness, her pulse in her ears giving her rhythm, surety. The world got sharper, her senses heightened by the moment. It was a wonder to have a clear objective… and she was about to make her statement.

They didn't see it coming. After all, so many ladies kept their hands crossed in front of them.

…how many ladies of Westeros kept skinny daggers in their selves?

Myrcella knew her strength and she used them wisely[12]. She knew she had never been very strong… but Obara had taught her to be as quick as a saw-scaled viper striking. Perhaps it was that speed, perhaps the fact that he did not expect it; it did not matter. By the time Aemon of house Frey knew what was happening it had already happened[13]: the narrow blade pieced flesh and bone and ebbed itself into the wood of the table, biting deep so that he would never be able to dislodge it even if he had the nerve. It happened just as her other dagger, a shorter one, found its home on the neck of Aemon of house Frey, right over his pounding pulse and shaved so close into his skin that a rivulet of blood bloomed its red flower and made its way down that worthless neck. Myrcella felt the pierce, heard the scream… didn't even blink.

"Don't move." Was her whispered order, and he did not, even though his free hand was reaching for her (or perhaps to the hand she had nailed on the table, Myrcella did not know and did not care)

The scent of blood filled her nose and Myrcella inhaled it deep. Sweat and blood. So heady it made her teeth itch; more familiar than her own bath oils. This was not meant to be liked, Myrcella knew that…but that did not mean she did not revel in the taste of his fear.

But feral was not what she wanted to look now, not for too long now. She wanted to sound cool, and calm and reasonable. She didn't want them thinking she had lost her mind. She wanted all to see that this was very much willingly done, with purpose and not in temper. So she bit back her smile, didn't show her teeth. Instead she straightened a little, without moving her hands where she had pinned Aemon Frey, like a butterfly on a table.

"Now listen well boy, I will only say this once. I am Myrcella of house Baratheon, Princess of the Iron Throne. The blood of kingslayers and kingmakers flows in my veins, and you, No-one of house Nowhere… you will address me as your grace."

Aemon Frey moaned, but didn't dare move because her short dagger was still biting at the soft flesh of his throat. Myrcella took the blade from over his pulse and brought the tip of it under his chin.

"You can't…" he grunted out.

"I can, I am.[14]" Factual, dry. A statement. And it didn't matter what he meant. With him, she could – everything. "Now, I am waiting for that apology… and I don't like waiting." A little twist of the dagger she had stabbed in his hand was enough to almost make a grown man sob and drive that point home. Myrcella let the sounds he made slide over her like water off a duck. She did not feel sorry in the least for the mauling quim beneath her steel; but after the initial moment when her frustration finally unleashed, she found herself not even enjoying it anymore. It really was not about that anymore.

"You…"

Myrcella said nothing, only waited. She had seen no nerve in Aemon Frey. No bravery. He would squeal like a pig. He already was.

"I beg your pardon, your grace. I do. Please…"

Myrcella felt the thrill of it, the taste of retaliation, so heady. She gritted her teeth against it. he still dared show her anger. Very well then…

I have a greedy heart, at my deepest… I am what you make me.

"How is it that you ought to apologies to royalty, boy?" she heard her own voice sound foreign. Stead as the beat of a calm drum, flat almost. She didn't know how she looked. She hoped she looked as composed as she always did.

But Eamon Frey had no answer for her, so she twisted the blade a little further in his wound. He was bleeding a trickle, but he would bleed more once she pulled the dagger out. The blade was thin enough to conceal in her forearm, but even the thinnest blade ruptured flesh and bone… and there were quite a few bones in ones palm.

"Don't you know?" she pushed, mercilessly. "The answer is 'on your knees'."

He gave her a look full of desperation, sweat beading on his face like the pig he was. "I can't move."

Myrcella didn't even blink… so the little swine kicked the stool from under him and kneeled in front of her.

Just as he did, she took the blade from out of his hand, and it made him curl into himself, there on his knees, holding his hand against him and not even having the decency to keep his moans to himself.

She held her chin up and her eyes hard when he looked up at her.

"I will kill you for this."

Myrcella only smiled. Some men never learn, do they?

"You couldn't kill me if you tried for a hundred years." She said coldly. And kept staring. Her dagger was still dripping with his blood, and it was auspiciously close to his face. Aemon Frey's eyes darting to it told her that, thick as he was, he did not miss it. Nor did he miss the way he was being stared at, like prey about to be torn apart.

"I beg your pardon for my insolence, you grace." He said unwillingly.

Myrcella thought on it a moment.

"I grant you a princess' pardon, Eamon of house Frey. And it is given so you may always remember what happens when your hand overreaches your grasp. That shall be your lesson."

And when she cut her dagger across his face, slicing it open from one corner of his forehead to the bridge of his nose, almost cutting it off… her hand did not shake and she did not feel the slightest hesitation.

"… and that is so you may remember it[15]." She stated as Eamon of house Frey twitched on the ground and screamed. "You're dismissed now."

"Dismissed?"

Myrcella turned to her left, where the horrified face of someone who very vaguely resembled the one she had just sliced open stared at her with both anger and fear.

"Indeed, sir. To hell or a master, as you prefer. I don't particularly care." And she did not. Not for him. She whipped her blade with the closes napkin and threw it on the table, without bothering to look around.

"Sir Brynden, I believe am ready to go now." She said, only because it was her way and without waiting for an answer made for the stables. As she went, she thought she heard the beginning of a strange sound behind her. It might have been a bear groaning, or another large animal, but after a moment and as she got farther, she could tell: it was rough laughter… and it haunted her steps to the stables.

She was flush with anger.

They were laughing at her! Laughing. She had almost killed a man, and they laughed?!

What did she have to do to gain a little bit of peace from these people?

As soon as she saw Sarabi out of her stall, Myrcella did not wait for anyone to even come close to her, as grooms always did, to help her up. She did not need it, she did not want it. she found herself on the brick of such emotion that she could hardly contain herself. She had thought she was being hard and strong back there, fearsome at the very least… but laughter had followed her steps.

The thought made her want to scream and kill something.

Laughter…

"Your knights better be fast, sir Brynden. I wait for no man." She heard herself say. She sounded haughty, proud. She sounded as if she was speaking steel even though she knew that the reason her voice was a little thicker was because she was on the brick of tears again.

What is the matter with me today?

She felt like a fresh wound. She was… Had Tyene split her open so hard? I don't care. I don't.

Let them see me as I am. Let them fear me, or hate me or despise me as they please.

True to her words, she pushed Sarabi forward with her heels and the horse dove into a gallop immediately, neighing and almost bouncing on his back legs. Myrcella held on tightly and saw the men, lords and knights and squires alike dive out of her path as her Sand Steed took to riding at full pace without giving a single thought to who or what was in its way. Myrcella did not either, and saw them scatter like mice before her.

As they deserve.

She had no thought for them, not any of them. And they better dive away, lest they should like the feel of Sarabi's hooves imprinted on their faces and their backs. She would have trampled all down without a second thought. She would have crushed the whole world beneath an iron fist in that moment.

I stop for no man either. I am tired of pretending; Come what may and fuck the rest. Valar Morgulis.

---

[1] Taken off that witch woman that 'sacrifices' Danny's baby to give Drogo back his 'life'. Mirri Maz Something…

[2] The wording of this is exactly as Elisabeth Benet's words in Pride and Prejudice, the movie 2005 with Keira Knightly (perhaps they're the same in the book, i dunno)

[3] Jamie Lannister reference here (battle of Oroxos, to Robb)

[4] I think you all know where I stole this one from. But, for legal purposes: From 'the return of the king' Lord of the Rings, the movie, Eowyn's line as she kills the Witch King of Agmar.

[5] Quoted from Tyrion, from the book, I think. It's that moment when he has just been made hand and plays Varys, Littlefinger and Pycell about Myrcella's engagement.

[6] Taken after what Ygrite tells Jon Snow as they're about to climb the Wall – though I don't remember the exact wording. Right after that comes the famous 'don't betray me…' :P

[7] Verbatim from Arianna herself, in one of her chapters.

[8] In reference to what the Darkstar actually says to Arianne Martell as he points to the sword in his hand.

[9] And expression I found in tumbrl, NOT mine, though I don't know the origin. There were some picture on that post, from the new TV show, Hannnibal. Still, I renounce all credit. Not mine, again.

[10] He leant honor to anyone he served – the expression used for Sir Barristan the Bold Selmy, by Tyrion I think, though I'm not sure.

[11] 'Dwarf? Hm, you should have stopped at Imp.' – Tyrion Lannister to Janos Slynt.

[12] Yes, I did it. I just quoted Petyr 'Midlefinger' Baelysh… sorry.

[13] Robb Stark when he captures Jamie Lannister

[14] Tyrion, to Joffrey, the day when Myrcella left for Dorne and Joff caused a riot in the street that almost got him killed. Tyrion says that to deal ol' Joff right before he slaps the King.

[15] Same quote, from Kingdom of Heaven.