Darry was upon them before they knew it, and the river spread broad and shining alongside the road as they drew close to the town.
Myrcella was glad of it - she was as seasoned a horsewoman as existed in King's Landing, with an ease in the saddle that even Uncle Jaime had commented on, but her thighs and backside were aching from such long hours ahorse. The only alternative was travelling with her mother in the wheelhouse, though, and such had been the Queen's foul mood since their departure from Winterfell that Myrcella could hardly stand to be in her lady mother's company for more than an hour at a time.
Riding also had the advantage of leaving her with such company as she chose herself - she was sorry that Uncle Tyrion had chosen to ride further north, away to the Wall at the end of the civilised world, and sorrier still that whenever Rosamund chose to ride along with her, so too did Myrielle. Still, she had Lady Sansa who was so charmed by Ser Arys, and she had Rosamund when they could get away from Myrielle.
Always, always, she had Ser Arys, who though a little staid and a little boring was kind and charming and listened intently to everything Myrcella had to say, and discussed things with her that no other man save Uncle Tyrion would.
Sometimes Uncle Renly would talk of politics and war and the danger posed to their rule by the Targaryens in Essos - a slight danger indeed, from what Myrcella could gather - but it was a rarity. No one seemed to think she had any need to know such things, not even when Joffie refused to learn about them.
"Tell me, Lady Sansa," she said, turning to her companion. "Have you ever been so far south?"
Lady Sansa flushed prettily, ever embarrassed by what she saw as a lack of sophistication. Others would view it similarly, of course, and until Myrcella had discussed it with Ser Arys, she had done so, too. Not everyone had Tywin Lannister's vast reserves of gold behind them, after all, to facilitate travel and splendour. House Stark had graver concerns than Myrish lace and Qohorik steel and kingdom-spanning travel.
"I've been twice to Riverrun, Your Highness," Lady Sansa said, easier now in her saddle than she had been when they set out from Winterfell. "And to White Harbour several times, and- and to Last Hearth, of course."
"Ah," Myrcella said, unable to keep from smiling at that. "To visit your future home?"
Lady Sansa's blush turned from pink to puce, but her smile was the brightest Myrcella had seen since their very first night at Winterfell, a moon's turn ago and more. She was a lovely girl, but Myrcella only wished that she might be a little fiercer. She would not survive court if she was as sweet and trusting as she had been even just with Myrcella and her companions.
Rosamund had been kind, even though Myrcella knew her almost-twin was taking careful note of each and every weakness Lady Sansa displayed, but Myrielle had been Myrielle. From her very first hour as part of Myrcella's household, Myrielle had been cold, acerbic, and calculating, but worse than any of that, she had been obvious about it all. Myrcella's lord grandfather encouraged ambition and greed in his family, but Myrielle's lust for power was tasteless in a way that even Tywin Lannister would surely not condone.
Especially when it manifested as unkind teasing to a girl as innocent as Lady Sansa.
"Lord Umber has been very encouraging to Jon and I," Lady Sansa said, with a sort of delicate confidence that spoke of a lack of female friends. Myrcella was unsurprised, considering what she had come to know of little Mistress Poole, Sansa's dearest friend - a frail little slip of a thing, like an insipid reflection of Myrielle, complete with the transparent ambition, in her case attached to an infatuation with the Greyjoy boy at Winterfell. "He has been most... Accommodating."
"More so than your parents?" Myrcella teased, laughing when Lady Sansa turned her face away. "I mean no harm, my lady, and if you are worried that I might report any improprieties to your lord father, you need not worry."
"Jon has never been anything but perfectly respectful," Lady Sansa said stoutly. "He is a truly good man. He is."
"I believe you," Myrcella assured her, wondering who had been speaking out of turn - Lady Sansa seemed to hear a great deal more than she ought, and doubtless there had been some less than complimentary discussion of the wild-looking Northman betrothed to Lord Stark's delicate, oh-so-southron daughter.
Myrcella had wondered at it, a little, she could not deny it. It seemed odd that Lord and Lady Stark should choose to betroth Lady Sansa so far north, especially when Lady Arya was so obviously better suited to life above the Neck, or so it seemed from what Myrcella had seen of them both. That said, she couldn't deny that Lady Sansa and her massive betrothed seemed well suited, nor could she deny that they visibly doted on one another. Mayhaps Lord and Lady Stark knew their daughters better than Myrcella's parents knew her - that, after all, would not be difficult. Myrcella sometimes marvelled that her father remembered that he had any children at all, much less that he had three.
"What's he like, your Lord Jon?" she asked, for want of something better. "Tell me about him."
And maybe, once Lady Sansa had talked her fill of Lord Jon, Myrcella could ask her more about Lord Robb. They had spoken more than she had expected they would be able to, but he was still a mystery, still a stranger, and she wished to change that.
Her lord father wished to remain at Darry only one night, and then arrive at King's Landing in splendour the following evening - Lord Lyman gave up his own rooms for the King's use, and pushed aside his household and retainers to make way for the King's. Myrcella would have gone mad at all the ceremony and grovelling had it not been for the surprise awaiting them within the Great Hall.
"Uncle!" she called, darting away ahead of her parents to spring into Uncle Renly's waiting embrace. "How wonderful to see you!"
"Such a lovely welcome, golden girl," Renly teased, kissing her forehead and smiling. "Has the road truly been so long?"
"You have no understanding of just how long that road was," she said, low down so only he would hear. He glanced to her mother and to Myrielle and then to Joffie, and she smiled in confirmation - she may not have trusted him in all things, but in this, at least, he was her ally. He loathed her mother more even than her father did, after all. "What brings you to Darry?"
"It was felt that the King ought to be welcomed on his return to the Crownlands," Renly said, "and since I am the brother least likely to insult our new Lord Hand, it was agreed that I should be the one to come - I and Ser Barristan, of course."
Myrcella had not even noticed the Lord Commander behind Renly, too relieved by the sight of a new face to look beyond it. Ser Barristan did not seem to mind, of course, content as always to be a pale shadow one step behind those under his guard.
"Ser Barristan," she said, nodding to acknowledge him, forcing down a wave of embarrassment - she was, after all, the second woman of the realm, and given her lady mother's temperament, she was often the hostess in all but name at the Red Keep. It was her duty to notice everyone present, and it felt unforgivable to miss Ser Barristan of all men.
Myrcella liked the Lord Commander, inasmuch as he could be liked - he was aloof and noble, not in word alone but in deed, too, like Symeon Star-Eyes come forward in time to shame them all for their failings. He was a man made more for admiration than liking, she thought, and had said as much to Rosa more than once - sometimes, when the screaming and bellowing from her lord father's rooms was too much, Myrcella wished that the King had seen fit to mould himself a little more in Ser Barristan's image, upon assuming the throne.
"Princess," Ser Barristan returned with one of his polite, almost demure smiles - never overly friendly, but never even slightly rude. He abhorred rudeness, in her experience, and had, on those extremely rare occasions when he had been set to guard her, taken umbrage with the ruder boys about court and the way they called after Myrcella and her ladies. "Your journey went well, I hope?"
"Exceedingly so, ser," she agreed. "But I am sure you would rather speak to my lord father...?"
"And leave you in your uncle's able care," he agreed with another cool smile. "Ser Arys, well met."
She left the two whitecloaks together, looping her arm through Renly's and allowing him to lead her aside with their heads bowed together. It irked her lady mother terribly when she and Renly whispered together, far more so than when she did the same with Rosa or Elisa or even with Margaery, because her lady mother always assumed that Renly was conspiring about something. He never was, not with Myrcella at least, but things remained tense between them all no matter how she tried to sooth tempers and egos.
"I'm told there's been some disturbance," he said softly, cocking his shoulder to hide both their faces from her parents. "My brother sent word of a disaster at Winterfell, but wouldn't commit detail to a letter."
"Brandon, the middle Stark boy," she said, tugging off her gloves and doing everything in her power to make their conversation seem casual. "He suffered a terrible fall - he was climbing the walls and fell from high up one of the towers."
"Barbaric," Renly said, sounding surprised, and Myrcella half agreed - she hadn't thought of it while at Winterfell, confronted with the grief and fear of Bran's family, but his habits were more than a little wild, and would certainly never have been tolerated in King's Landing. "He lived, though?"
"He was still sleeping when we left," she said, "but he lived - their maester thinks he will never walk, even if he does wake. A shame. He is only ten years old."
"A shame indeed," Renly agreed, frowning now as he so rarely did. "And yet Robert still insisted on Ned Stark coming south? That seems unkind, even for my kingly brother."
"What the King wants, the King must have," she said, keeping most of the bitterness out of her voice - Renly was not Tyrion, and would never notice anyway, but it would not do to let her disappointment with her father show so publicly. "What news of King's Landing, then? I cannot imagine that everything was quiet while we were away."
"Quieter since Stannis retreated to Dragonstone," Renly said, something thoughtful lighting his bright eyes. "But as full of scandal as can be expected - my betrothed and I have done our best to maintain order."
Even had Margaery not been Renly's betrothed, set to marry him before the end of the year, she would have been the first lady of court in the absence of Myrcella and her mother - she was first among Myrcella's ladies, after all, and since the Queen could not tolerate any woman long enough to establish a proper household, Myrcella's ladies were the heart of the court.
So it seemed, anyhow - neither her father nor Joffie had even transitory households, only occasional hangers on who were raised and dropped in esteem as fit the King and Joff's moods. Myrcella alone of them had a true household, since Tommen was too young, and used her ladies as best she could to keep the peace. She was glad that Margaery had stepped in to aid Renly in her absence - she had done it in her mother's absence more times than she could count, and knew it was not an easy duty, but she thought that it might be a duty Margaery would relish.
"I shall shoulder your burdens upon our return," she teased, which made him laugh - it did not take much to make Renly laugh, truth be told, but she still enjoyed doing so, uncertain trust or not. "Did Uncle Stannis take Shireen with him?"
"Unfortunately," Renly said. "I tried to convince him otherwise, golden girl, but you know how he is - nothing will change his mind once it's set."
A shame - Shireen was almost as inconstant a fixture in the maidenvault as Elisa, but Myrcella was sure that time spent with other young women did her good. She was young and shy, but she was clever, too, and insightful in a way that often made Myrielle's short temper snap.
"What do you think of your betrothed?" he asked, a transparent attempt to lighten her mood. "Is he the twin of his terribly honourable father?"
"More like his mother, I think," she said, rolling her eyes and tucking her gloves into her belt. "He is very handsome, and very courteous, and I think that there are a great many worse men I could have been sold off to."
"So cynical," Renly murmured, taking the weight of her cloak as she unclasped her brooches. "You are pleased, though?"
"As I can be," she promised him, because now, with distance between herself and Winterfell, between herself and Robb Stark, it was easier to be concerned with what her life in that far-distant castle would be like. "There are few enough who are wholly pleased with their impending marriages, uncle."
Lady Sansa was bobbing a neat, dainty curtsy to Ser Barristan, smiling that honey-sweet smile of hers, and Myrcella loathed her for a heartbeat. It was pure jealousy, she knew, a sickly, bitter thing borne of desperate envy over the innocence that clung to Lady Sansa like a veil, of the joy that radiated off her at even the mention of her giant, of the happiness she obviously found in her family's company, and it was beneath Myrcella - she was a Princess of the Iron Throne, after all, and it was absurd that she be jealous of anyone.
"Come, then, golden girl," Renly said, uncharacteristically gentle. "Bring me to greet my brother."
He kept her cloak over his arm, kept her on his other arm, and was so gregarious that no one at all noticed that her smiles, for once, had disappeared.