Arianne

"I still don't understand," Myrcella Baratheon said, shaking her head, her long golden hair fluttering behind her like a flag, "Why did Rickard have to go?"

The desperate sadness in her voice plucked at Arianne's heartstrings like the chord of a high harp. She had expected this, much as Rickard had when he had asked her to go to his sister, and be comfort as she could to her. It was a similar striking of a chord with his voice that had compelled her to say yes, without giving it a first though, let alone a second.

Arianne smiled at the child in the mirror, as she continued to brush the flowing river of gold before her, "Rickard is not gone, sweetling. You can see where he is from the walls of the Red Keep, I promise you. He is not so far away."

It was a stone's throw really, Arianne thought, considering the vast distances between herself and her own brothers, Quentyn and Trystane. There was also time and years between them. She could not even recall Quentyn's face, only a name on parchment, a piece of paper to rip her birth right from her, that she had found on mere accident. As for Trystane, he had been a child, too small even for the pools at the Water Gardens yet. Of him she only remembered how her mother had held him, and wept before she left them all for Norvos. Trystane would be of an age with Myrcella now, and Quentyn, he would be somewhere in between Rickard and Joffrey. Arianne did her best to try and imagine what they might look like now, but it was for nought, each time the image turned into her father and his look of quiet disappointment.

"He would not even tell us why he must go," Princess Myrcella said, dragging her away from thoughts of her own family, "Neither will Mother, she says she isn't worried."

"Well there you have it then," Arianne smiled setting down the brush, and pushed some of it over the front of Myrcella's shoulder so she could see how smooth and silkily it sat, "If your Mother is not worried, why should you be?"

The girl's brow knitted together in a frown, and for a moment Arianne recognised it as Rickard's frown, "But she is worried. I can tell, she is angry with him, or with Father. I don't know." Just when it looked as though she was about to cry, Arianne put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She looked up at her through the mirror, saw her smiling encouragingly, shut her eyes, and the tears were gone. "I hate it when Rick and Mother are angry at each other. It just makes them both sad."

Arianne sighed. Bending low, she pulled the Princess's face so that she could really look at her as she spoke, "I can't speak for your Mother, but I know that if Rickard thought that this was something for you to fret over he would tell you." Then she hugged her.

Never before now had Arianne felt guilty. Not that she was wholly to blame, her part in this was small, but nevertheless she had had a part to play in it. And to see the pain in sweet Myrcella's eyes was her first confrontation with consequences in this whole affair. It is a good thing that I came to her and not Rickard, she decided, imagining that her Prince might do near anything to keep his sweet sister form tears. Not that he should have to either, but some Arianne could not imagine Tywin Lannister having the same devotion to his granddaughter as his errant grandson.

When they broke apart, Myrcella Baratheon was grinning at her.

"Now there's a pretty face," she said, twitching the younger girls hair, and planting a kiss on her forehead.

Myrcella blushed scarlet, "I like this," she said, now toying with her hair yellow locks, "Mother says I'm still too young to have proper ladies maids, and all her hers are all too old. Sometimes, I wish I had a sister, or that one of my brothers had been born a girl."

Arianne laughed, the image of all three Baratheon brother's faces turning sour if they'd have heard such a thing from their only sister. "I have had much the same thoughts about mine own brothers from time to time, little one." Her life might have been easier if Quentyn had been a girl, perhaps then she would not have been punished for the curse of her own cunt. She had Tyene though, and the others who had paddled with her in the Water Gardens, that was a great consolation at least, "Which of them would you prefer had been a girl, sweetling?"

The other Princess's eyes turned to the floor, but Arianne could see the grin beneath them, "Joffrey might be sweeter, if he had pigtails."

Both of them giggled, Myrcella rolling in her seat and clutching at her sides.

When they subsided, Arianne stood and took a seat on Myrcella's bed, and the girl turned to keep face with her.

"Well you might get a sister out of Joffrey yet," she told Myrcella, consolingly, "Your Father has betrothed him to Sansa Stark. And when they are wed, you shall have Lady Sansa and Lady Arya for good-sisters."

This did not have effect that she had hoped, as Myrcella's mouth smiled, but the rest of her face was a plain frown.

"I do like Sansa…"

"But?"

"But… Arya she is very…" Arianne watched her, grasping for words that would not make her sound cruel and malign, "Strange." She finished on.

Arianne put a hand on her mouth trying to cover her laugh, before she said, "Oh, little flower, you might want to reconsider what you call strange should you ever meet my cousins."

What might the little Princess think when faced with any of the Sand Snakes? Obara with her spear, whip and face like carved granite; Nymeria, the Fowler twins in tow, smile and cheeks sharper than the daggers and knives she toyed with; Tyene, who's hair Arianne remembers being a gold brighter and sheerer than Myrcella's, her prayerbook nestled between her fingers; Sarella with her histories, parchments and a bow that only missed on purpose; not mention the younger ones, all the more curious in their own ways for ones so young. How much more stranger could Arya Stark be compared to them?

"She got in to trouble on the Kingsroad. Bad trouble. Sansa and Mother said she hit Joffrey, and her friend the butcher's boy hurt him, and she ran away. But then she came back, and Joff and Sansa took back what they said. The Direwolf scares me too, I was glad when Arya's ran away, but she looked so sad for it. I felt bad for her after that."

Myrcella looked at her feet, and Arianne rose to her own, crossed the room, and pulled the girl from her chair, "You just don't know her that well, it seems to me. Do you think you could introduce me? I would very much like to meet these curious daughter of Lord Stark."

The smaller Princess nodded reluctantly, and stood, but she smiled up at Arianne when she grabbed her hand, and from then on seemed happy to lead the way to the Lord Eddard's daughters.

Part of her hoped that through the daughters, Arianne might be able to make a connection to Eddard Stark, make a friend of him and Dorne. Gods know, Jon Arryn had been no such thing, and the years had been had on Dorne for not having friends in King's Landing, she knew. They were still not trusted wholly by the new order of Robert Baratheon, as they had ten thousand troops under Rhaegar at the Trident. Ignoring that, unlike the Tyrells and others, they had been forced to throw the weight behind the Mad King, who had held her Aunt Elia as hostage so Prince Doran would keep faith. But of course no one liked to remember that, no body had wept for Elia and her children, as much victims of Targaryen cruelty as Rickard and Brandon Stark, no one but Dorne remembered.

Myrcella led her out of Maegor's Holdfast toward the Tower of the Hand, yet despite her own dip in to distracted thoughts, the golden Princess never wavered in her smile, and never for once released her hand. Only when they entered the Tower of the Hand, passing by guardsmen in Stark livery, did Myrcella speak again, shaking her out of her thoughts.

"I… I wish you could be my good-sister, too, Ari."

Her heart warmed to match her smile, "Thank you, sweetling. I think you would make a fine good-sister." Only Rickard calls me 'Ari', she thought, knowing it'd be just fitting for both him and his sister to do the same.

"You could be," Myrcella sounded excited, and Arianne rather thought that this had been on Myrcella's mind since they had first started talking about brothers and sisters.

"I know Rickard likes you." The child went on, "You and he have been friends since before you came to King's Landing, I remember. I do not think he would hate being married to you."

Arianne did not look at Myrcella, not wanting show off too much of the invincible grin on her face, "Really? I think that as well."

"Do you?!" she sounded starstruck, and pulled Arianne's hand to her heart, "I could tell Mother for you? She could go to Father, and write to yours, Ari. My Mother could do it?"

"No," she said quickly, though not so sharp as to frighten Myrcella, "First, I think you should talk to Rickard about it. Tell him, let him know what you think."

"But," Myrcella frowned again, "I'm not allowed to see him. And," she sounded sadder now even than before, "he said he wasn't allowed to come back up to the Red Keep for a while."

"You could write to him," she offered, "And if you like, I could take it to him for you. Rickard and I still see each other."

"Do you? Would you?"

"Yes."

"A-alright then." She nodded, "I'll write to Rickard then, and you… you could write him a-a note, or love letter. Y-you wouldn't have to sign it, he wouldn't have to know that was from you." Then she stopped dead in her tracks.

Arianne looked at her, and the Princess Myrcella stared back, half-afraid, half-angry, "D-do… c-could you love him? Rickard, I mean?" The question took her off guard to be sure, but Myrcella pressed on before she could compose herself, "Because, I remember once… I was smaller, smaller than Tommen is now. I had a lesson on one of the King Aegon's, and his children. I told Rick about how Prince Duncan had forsaken his betrothal, and married for love with Jenny of Oldstones. Joff was there, and he said Duncan was stupid, because he had to give up his Crown, and I remember, Rickard, he said he would rather marry for love and not be King, than be King and marry someone he didn't. But Joff only laughed, said Rickard wouldn't be King anyway, but I remember the look on his face all the same."

It was all a rush to take in, all the more difficult with Myrcella's big, sad, green eyes staring up at her as she spoke. But when the Princess Royal finally came to a stop, Arianne cupped her cheek and said, "Given the chance, Rick and me could be very happy I think."

Then she smiled, and the little Princess threw her arms full around her with such a force that Arianne was almost worried Myrcella might start weeping. Despite her fears thought, Myrcella held her courage, and finally eased off her embrace when Arianne pressed a kiss to the top of her head, adding a brush of her delicate golden curls.

They found the Stark girls with their Septa, a bony faced woman with thin lips and eyes as sharp as a flint called Mordane. All three were surprised to see her enter the study chambers they were using for their lessons, more so that Myrcella had come barging in than herself trailing in behind her. But they were accommodating nevertheless, though some were more so than others.

"It's is a pleasure to meet the Princess of Dorne," the Septa, rising to bow a curtsy.

Sansa Stark rose to do the same, "An honour and a pleasure to meet you, Princess."

Arianne bobbed down in reply herself.

The third of them, she noticed, did not bow. In fact, Arya Stark paid her no more mind than she would have done a flea, her face sulky and indifferent. Looking at them one after the other, Arianne would have had a hard time believing that these two were sisters: the elder, with her auburn hair, bright blue eyes, Sansa Stark was the ideal Andal Lady, with a beauty well beyond her years, she might even make a decent bride for Prince Joffrey if she could find a way for her gentleness to infect him; but Arya Stark was wholly different at first sight, her face was long, fortified with her father's grey eyes, and brown hair that looked barely contained by the tight braids it'd been placed in – though she was not entirely un-comely, Arianne could easily imagine given a few years the girl growing into quite the beauty to rival her sister.

At last, at the pointed look of the formidable Septa, Arya Stark rose and bowed, mute all the time.

"Please," she said, smiling at them all, "the pleasure is mine. As a stranger to the Capital myself, I thought it might be prudent to introduce myself to you all. I know first had how strange and daunting King's Landing can be to those visiting for the first time."

"We are grateful, and appreciate your kind thoughts, Princess." The Septa said. By 'we' Arianne got the impression that Septa could not entirely be speaking for the three of them, only herself and Lady Sansa. "And it is good to see the Princess Myrcella of course." There was more bowing and greeting, before a servant was summoned and refreshment sent for: iced milk, with honey.

"We were just discussing the Tourney to come, Princess." Sansa Stark said, stars in her eyes at the idea of young gallants on their chargers. "We have never seen a tourney before," even as she frowned, she remained beautiful, "our Father has never approved of them."

"Yes," the Septa added, "Lord Eddard has never approved of Tournaments, but as Hand of the King has a responsibility to his and his daughters to be seen."

"My Father always loves Tourneys," Myrcella piped up, "he never competes himself, but we're always having them or travelling to one. Last one we had was Joff's last nameday. My Lord Grandfather came from Casterly Rock, and everyone expected my uncle, Jaime, to win the jousts. But we was unhorsed by the Knight of Flowers in the last tilt."

Arianne smiled, she well recalled the Tourney. The whole court had bet on the Kingslayer, near enough – she had been decidedly neutral in the matter, seeing no reason why she should cheer for one enemy of Dorne over another. More clear than the tilt, she remembered Rickard: at the start he had been entered for the lists, but the order came down from the Queen he was forbidden to enter. Foul in his temper, he squired for his Kingsguard Uncle instead, and lost all the savings in his bet on Ser Jaime.

"Have you seen many tourneys in Dorne, my lady?" Sansa asked her.

"Few in Dorne," Her Father had never been one for the lists, and her Uncle gave up on them altogether when he stopped travelling away from Dorne. Besides that, Tournaments tend to be grand events for the whole realm, and who beyond the Red Mountains would travel across them to Yronwood, or High Hermitage for one, let alone across the desert to Sunspear or Godsgrace? "I spent time in Highgarden however. The tourneys never cease in the Reach, and over time one becomes much like any other. Most of the time, the combatant seem to have decided who is Champion by time of the first list being called. Will the Hand, your father, compete, Lady Arya?"

The point blank question seemed to take the girl off guard, and Arianne realised she is not used to people addressing her when the Septa or her sister are around; they too are surprised she has addressed her. A moments silence goes by, as Arya Stark tried to recover, but the Septa prompts her yet again.

"The Princess asked you a question, young lady."

Blinking, the girl looked from her to the Septa and back again, before she finally declared, with sullen face, "My Father does not like Tourneys. I once heard him tell Robb war is not a game, and its foolish to give a man the chance to know what you might do in a real battle."

"Prudent council," she said, smiling, as Septa Mordane looked up for the Mother's mercy. "Will others from your household compete then?"

"Jory will," Sansa answered, no doubt out of fear of what her sister might say when asked this, "Jory Cassell: the captain of our father's guard, and some others I expect. Who do you think will win?"

"Have you no faith in you Ser Jory, my lady?" She smiled as she said it, but the girl frowned, and her sister supplanted her.

"No she doesn't. She wants to know if Joffrey will take her favour."

"Arya!" her sister and the Septa cried, and her face grew even more sulky, but not before Myrcella's giggling interrupted them all. When they all looked at her, the Princess was blushing, a hand covering her mouth, and looking as though she was trying not to give herself away and give ill word about Joffrey to his betrothed.

"Prince Joffrey does not compete in tournaments, my lady," Arianne said, delicately, "much like His Grace the King. I am afraid you will have to find another to carry your favour if you still wish."

"No," she said, trying not to look disappointed as she sipped at her milk, "It is… fine."

"You should give it to Rickard," Myrcella suggested, "He will ride in the tourney I bet," happily at first but no sooner were the words out of her mouth that she then looked at Arianne in apprehension, "Or not… err…"

"Why does he compete?" Arya Stark then demanded boldly, and Myrcella's comment was forgotten, "Joffrey is the older brother. He should be competing, not Rickard."

Rousing to her betrothed's defence, her sister Sansa cut in, "It is beneath a Crown Prince," she declared, and before Arya could let loose another complaint Arianne dropped her stone to soothe the waters.

"Stranger things happen in Dorne, Lady Arya," she said, her voice calm, "why where I am from, its not unknown to find women carrying a lance as much the men."

Her words have more effect than she thought she would: Arya Stark cocked her head, not unlike a dog, and blinked three times in quick succession; interest piqued. "Truly," she said, slow and cautiously, "the ladies in Dorne… fight?"

"Some do certainly," and she told the Stark girl of her Uncle's Sand Snakes, enjoying the glee in her eyes as she went on telling the tale of her cousins, but more so enjoying the Septa's scandalized face and her inability to intervene in the exposure of Arya Stark to this Dornish Anarchy. Even Sansa Stark could not help but listen with intrigue, while Myrcella, reasonably more acquainted with the wider mythos of the Red Viper, smiles and is happy to hear talk of life in Sunspear.

Honestly, she could go on with this feral child, imagines herself tutoring Arya Stark privately in Dornish customs, freedoms and the better way things are done beyond the Red Mountains. Myrcella too could benefit from a kind of Dornish fire in her, she has courage, kindness and wits enough: the ways of Dorne might give her focus. But they are all interrupted just as the idea germinated in her her mind: the Queen is here.

"Your Grace," they all rise; they all bowed.

"Please, be seated," Cersei Lannister said, her expression blank, but her sharp green eyes have already rounded on her purpose here, "I am merely here to retrieve my daughter."

Silent and obedient, Myrcella rose amiably – Mother and daughter greeted one another sweetly, but ever so formal while these Others are here; these non-Lannisters. A kiss on the cheek is exchanged. But once it is over, emotion from the Queen is gone and Arianne is surprised when she meets her eyes, the took her in for what is obviously the first time.

It surprised her to realise this, that perhaps this is the first time that the Queen has looked at her straight before, not merely taken her as another extra in the Court. Not that she didn't immediately know why Her Grace had taken this opportunity took look her up and down, so she took her own chance and looked back. No one would question her beauty, and Myrcella would do well to inherit half her mother's looks when she is older. Her golden hair shone, like goldenrod, the scarlet gown of Myrish silk only fortified who and what she was: Lannister, always Lannister, down to the core. There was no mistaking the malice she felt for her, and she even understands why – of course the mother mut protect her son and daughter from this witch of Dorne – but in those eyes, glowing emeralds that manage to catch the sun wherever her head tilts, nothing is hidden in them.

As she starred at them, Arianne realised that there was little of Rickard in her, nor of her in Rickard. If the Prince had eyes like those, no one would love him, they would be too terrified of the dagger to be plunged in their back. Rickard is his own man, she decided, merely moulded from King Robert, well fired by his own humour and choices, and though she is loathed to admit it, tempered by Lord Tywin.

"Thank you for looking to my daughter," the Queen said to her.

She merely inclined her head, "Myrcella is a pleasure in herself." Then she dropped her head to the Princess, "Until next time, Sweetling."

Royalty departed their after, and Arianne gave thanks to the Starks for hosting her this afternoon, and reminded she was looking forward to their next meeting, before taking her own leave of them. Her lingering thought of the episode would be that she and Cersei Lannister have not had their last looks at one another, and only later would she remember the black, monstrous fury on Arya Stark's face for the whole time the Queen was in the room and even after she had left.