Chapter Fifty-Three
…..
The feast provided by the servants of Rivendell by order of its Lady is as splendid as ever. Myrcella herself has been quite used to the tasty and otherworldly cuisines taught by Delianah to the kitchen chefs of the Last Homely House. For the rather visiting dignitaries and their retinue of the King's court however, it is their first time to experience such new and delicious goodness.
Again Delianah shoves off propriety during the impromptu feast. Instead of the long table where the orderlies can be arranged properly via their rank, nobility and birth, the servants instead lay out long square tables all around the place where everyone can mingle with each other without ado. Her father, the jolly great down to earth warrior that he is takes it by stride and even supports it by joining the tables of some Stormlander knights and foot soldiers who at first seems at awe of the king before they relaxed under his great jovial character.
While the king and many nobles take it as it is, the offended ones flock to the Lannister pavilion and even refuse to partake in the small feast. Of course many of them soon returned, their defiance not lasting at the godly aroma coming from the cuisines. Only the most traditional, stuck up and die hard Lannister supporters manage to remain and instead partake the glop that is supposed to be tonight's dinner.
As for Myrcella, the event that she has been expecting the entire night finally comes.
"Princess Myrcella," the rich tone of her "uncle" slash father disturbs her halfway into biting through a meat bun. Of course Myrcella knows that he is her real father, she has heard her mother more than once calling out his name when they think no one is watching or if Robert is hunting. Besides, once you hear it, it doesn't take a genius to put two and two together based on her looks in Kingsguard golden armor, he looks every inch the golden lion of House Lannister. "My apologies for disturbing your dinner princess but the queen, your mother requests an audience,"
"Uncle, you don't have to be so formal with me," replies Myrcella cordially. She rather likes "Uncle" Jaimie. While she understands that he cannot show his attachment to her, she knows that he care. The level of protectiveness he shows when he's the one guarding her or her siblings is testament to that.
"Is uncle Tyrion also here?" she asks standing up and dusting the crumbs off of her white leather pants. Today she has opted not to wear the shining glory that is her armor from Delianah, but instead a simple button up shirt and pants for comfort. After that heated session with Delianah, she rather wants her legs to be able to move freely to relieve them of their soreness.
As it is she can feel the Dame's eyes tracking her through the crowd though as she goes with Ser Jaimie. She smiles inside at the care that her soon-to-be-betrothed is lavishing her with.
"Yes, his tent is at the borders with the rest of the guards, direct orders from your mother I am afraid," answers her uncle with a wince.
Myrcella just nods at that. The enmity between Tyrion and her mother is pathetically obvious. You have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to notice it. She likes Tyrion though, the small man might be crass and uncouth but she knows he loves them very much, especially her and Tommen. As for Joffrey, well no one really likes him.
"So, how are you niece?" Jaimie finally asks her. "You have grown so much since the last time I saw you,"
"The Lady Delianah is a great intellectual uncle. Let's just say that under her care, it would just be impossible not to grow up," answers Myrcella.
"She already has you wrapped in your finger I see. Careful my niece, the bastard might be all good and kind to you but at the end of the day she is a noble. Nobles always have an agenda when they're doing something for somebody. Nothing is ever for free and they never fail to use other people for their gains,"
Myrcella resists the urge to snarl at his words. Delianah has always been good to her, asking for nothing in return. Rivendell has great secrets that the Red Keep in all its stinky shit glory can never aspire to. She has built the wonder that is her kingdom from scratch and does not inherit it or stole it from someone else. She contents herself at the moment with the knowledge that he is only speaking because of his ignorance.
"The Lady Delianah has been extremely good to me uncle. She taught me everything that I need to know and more. I always have a choice if I want to leave Rivendell or not and I chose not to. All I am today, I owe it to her. She gives me everything with little to none in exchange," she replies a bit coldly.
Thankfully her uncle Is not dumb for although he looks ready to retort, he stands down at the stiffness of her tone. The rest of their walk is done in silence. Myrcella mentally berates herself though for her lack of control. Delianah once explained to her after all that people would always remember where she starts and losing hers, or Myrcella's cool over it would simply be a waste of time.
"Niece! You look beautiful!" a very familiar jovial voice makes Myrcella smile. She stares at her small diminutive other uncle who is approaching them with a slight wobble on his step. She winces at that. It seems that Tyrion is rather deep in his cups again. Before, she might not have paid it any attention but chalked it up to another of her uncle's quirks, but her study in Rivendell tells her the damage of too much unfiltered drink in the liver.
"And very mature and beautiful to boot," he continues with a big smile grabbing her hands with his stubby ones. "It's good to see that another has inherited the beautiful genes that belong to our family. I would rather be remiss if I have to fight for my position at the lowest of the line,"
This is why she likes her Uncle Tyrion, the small man might be a bit crass and contains a negative opinion of his own self a mile wide, but he's taking it all to stride like a mighty wall standing firm against the flood. Anyone else in his position might have succumbed already to depression but him? Myrcella never fails on seeing him smile when it comes to his condition.
"Thank you uncle, I see that you have not pitched your tent near the feasts?" she ends questioningly.
"I know right? Your mother is so confusing sometimes princess. One way, she demands me not to attend the feast by pointing out Lannister family solidarity, but at the same time she puts my tent so far away from our family tent, it's so confusing you know. It's like she loves me but hates me at the same time,"
Myrcella only laughs at that. The enmity after all of the Queen to her younger brother is well-known from the North of the Wall to the Hot sands of Dorne. Either way it is something that all of them have learned to live with.
"Either way, it's good to see you uncle. You have grown much handsomer also if I might say so," compliments Myrcella with a giggle.
"Aye, I agree to that wholeheartedly my dearest niece. Give me a few good years and I'll be putting Jaimie to shame when it comes to bedding ladies. Tell me Jaimie, how many women have you successfully tempted to your bed again?"
Myrcella might not be an expert at observing people, but she can clearly see her father slash uncle stiffen a bit at the question.
"No one Tyrion, you already know why," he replies in his usual nonlachant manner.
"And such a shame at that. All that handsomeness wasted, that is proof at least that the ladies prefer rich ugly old me rather than celibate handsome like you. It's too bad that our dearest Myrcella here isn't a prince else we could include her in our little game!"
"Enough of that disgusting talk you filthy monster! Myrcella get in here!" the sharp voice of Cersei from inside the tent calls out stopping whatever conversation that the three of them are going.
"Well that is my cue, wish me luck," shrugs Myrcella. "Uncle Tyrion, uncle Jaimie," she nods her head at the two who repeats the gesture as she strides forward.
As she walks past her Uncle Tyrion though, she can't help but lean down ward at her uncle's hearing only. "My record is two uncle,"
She almost laughs at the sudden dumbfounded and surprised look that sports his face at her words.
….
Lannister Pavilion
It takes the entirety of Cersei Lannister's control not to snarl at the rather common looking outfit that her daughter is wearing. Where is the Golden Princess that she has successfully cultivated all over the years? It's just another thing that she chalks up to the bastard ruining her daughter of.
"My daughter, I'm so glad to see you again," Cersei chides in making a hugging move to her now tall daughter. While part of her is pissed at the changes of Myrcella. As a mother, she truly is proud of the pure Lannister genes manifesting on her daughter.
"And I you, mother," Myrcella replies to her, reciprocating her gesture.
"Come, eat and sit, we have much to talk about after so long of not seeing one another," Cersei gestures at the table which she prepared, a proper Westerosi meal not that kind of barbaric food invented by the bastard.
"I have already eaten, but thank you mother for the hospitality," her daughter replies with that unfamiliar confidence oozing from her with none of the demure character she has before. Well, Cersei can wrangle that back later. First things first though.
"You have grown so much since I last saw you Myrcella, you look so much like a carbon copy of me when I'm younger. Are you well?" she asks this time with some true sincerity in it.
"As well as I can be mother," a small smile appears on her lips. "The Lady Delianah is taking care of me well,"
"I see," Cersei replies. Though every inch of her mouth tastes like ash on her next words, she knows she must say it if she wants to get her daughter's cooperation about those powerful beasts for Joffrey's sake.
"And how is the Lady Delianah faring? Is her supervising your decision well?"
"It is mother. She might be a little unorthodox," Cersei refuses the urge to scowl once again. Unorthodox is the least of the words that she can describe of the damage the bastard has done to her daughter's personality and mannerisms. "But she gets the job done. I believe that my time with her is well spent. Other than the royal etiquette required of me, I have learned a lot of things also about this world we live in,"
"Yes, though might I say that her lessons about etiquette and attire leaves much to be desired," Cersei lets a little of her sour displeasure appear as she eyes the common shirt and pants that Myrcella is wearing.
"They are comfortable and there is no large engagements that I would need attending to that requires me a regalia that would make me feel extremely uncomfortable," she replies with a shrug.
"My dear daughter, have you already forgotten what I taught you? In this world of ours, we women, our poise, grandeur, beuty and what is between our legs is our way to power and survival? At all times you must always dress your best else no one will respect or notice you,"
"Respect and notice maybe yes mother; but putting unnecessary lack of comfort on ourselves when there is no need to is a waste of both strength and time. It's better also if we do not all the time dress to impress. It gives the lesser lords and commoners the impression that we are not stuffy old lords who love to dress up and remind them of their statuses in life,"
"Lions don't concern themselves with the opinions of sheep!" snarls Cersei, her control slipping for a moment, completely displeased about her daughter's reply. She forcefully manages to regain her composure though by making a show of drinking wine from her cup.
"Either way, we would address that wardrobe problem of yours and same also with the lack of etiquette problems that the Lady of Rivendell seems to fail to impart on you,"
Cersei's mood soured even more at the frown that appears on her daughter's face. It seems that she would need to start from scratch on remaking her own daughter, and erase whatever traces the bastard successfully implanted on her.
"Enough of this beating around the bush though. Time to get to the point really here,"
"I've noticed that you are able to ride those magnificent beasts from before daughter. Are you perhaps a rider of one of those?" Cersei innocently asks. She doesn't flinch at the suspicion from her daughter's eyes at that.
"I am, they are called Gryphons mother and very few are able to ride them. They are not tame beasts, but wild. I am lucky that Sierra chose me as her rider," she answers with a shrug.
"Nonsense, every beast can be tamed. The Targaryens proved that when they tamed the dragons which they ride to battle. One just needs to find the right way for it," scoffs Cersei, impressed with her own brilliance.
"Your brother, Myrcella would be king of the Seven Kingdoms one day. As king he would need all the strength he can get. The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros are not united by leniency, kindness or oaths of friendship but cowed by might. Once you prove that you are at the top of the food chain, no one would dare challenge your decision and power. Those Gryphons of yours, if your brother can successfully ride them and those loyal to him, they would be able to create a dynasty that can rival even that of the Targaryens. So what say you Myrcella? Will you help your brother get a Gryphon of his own?" Cersei asks, failing this time to hide her own excitement at the idea.
She has expected Myrcella to put up a fight, even a little. What she doesn't expect is the nonlachant shrug that she gets in reply.
"Sure, as long as he passes their trial then he can,"
"Trial, what trial?" blinks Cersei in confusion.
The smile that greets her is more akin to a lioness stalking its prey rather than that of a beautiful young woman.
"The trial of each Gryphon Rider of course mother. Try not to die on your partner's attempts at killing you,"
….
Delianah's Personal Tent
The bright peal of laughter can be heard as the Lady of Rivendell laughs out loud at the retelling of Myrcella's story. To say that Delianah is proud of Myrcella would be an understatement of the century. The princess after all belong to the rare few who is not dosed with the usual daily loyalty potions inside her lands other than the Green Men. If she has any doubt before of Myrcella's loyalty without the potions, this event just laid all her doubts to rest.
"I still can't believe you challenged your mother like that Cella,"
"Why shouldn't I? She's been trying so hard at trying not to show her displeasure about your handling of me. She's got a bad opinion of bastards due to my father's whoring. Besides, I know more than anyone else that in the event of between choosing me and Joffrey, she would choose Joffrey in a heart beat," her laugh is almost bitter.
Delianah just hmmed at that. The relationship between Myrcella and her parents (secret father not included), has always been contentious at best. Robert's lousy skills as a father and Cersei's dotting on her puppet king has driven Myrcella's mood away from them though more on the latter than the former.
"So Joffrey's ready to try and get a Gryphon tomorrow?" Delianah asks.
"Yes, it is inevitable. Father would demand it after Mother nags him. Besides we have no worries there. Gryphons choose those of noblest character or the brave. I can personally testify that my brother unfortunately doesn't have either of those,"
"So we just make sure that he won't be turned into Gryphon food tomorrow and avoid a crisis that may rock Westeros again?"
"Basically," answers Myrcella. "It won't be that hard for you. You saved me after all,"
"I have great motivation on making sure your skin remain warm and not clammy or cold Cella," answers Delianah with a teasing tone.
A soft growl like a lioness is the response she gets at the Princess who is eyeing her, specifically her breasts through the bodysuit attire she is wearing.
"You know Lady Delianah. I've been feeling all jealous and bothered by all the men staring at you through that outfit of yours all night. What do you say you remind me that you are mine and I am yours?"
Delianah only laughs at that with a snap of her fingers, the bodysuit fell downward exposing herself in all her naked glory. "Come then Cella and Yasmina, stop peeking through that tent side and join us. You can help Cella undress!" she calls out to the concubine who has been unashamedly sneaking through the tent side.
To say the least, all thoughts of Joffrey disappear quickly as the three of them enjoy themselves on the throes of passion. Morning can come later.
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Author's Note: Next chapter would be action packed. Thanks as always for the support Readers.
For the record, for those acting, Yasmina is a concubine, a servant, slash, second wife.