#* verse 002: myrcella baratheon / HER WITS WERE QUICKER‚ HER COURTESIES MORE POLISHED.

[diguerra-moved]

"Myrcella, I want to give you something." Cersei said as she pulled a small box from a pocket of her dress. She opened it to reveal a lion pendant on a long, golden chain. "It was your grandmother's. I want you to have it. Remember that you are a lioness, my love." ((oops))

IC ASKS // always accepting.

Emerald eyes follow mother’s movements and meet mother’s own, hands neatly resting upon her lap as she sits, waits, watches. There is a sense of importance to this even before mother shows her what the small box contains; princess she is, and gifts not at all rarity, yet this feels different (more serious, more somber; a weight to it that denounced it was no mere jewelry, even as lion pendant was revealed). Then again, no true surprise that it is no mere gift, more than just piece of jewelry; mother’s affections seldom so open that she bothers with trifling things such as necklaces, demeanor too particular in that she takes moment so private and wears tone so solemn.

Answer comes soon enough, and lioness cub’s eyes shine with renewed interest at new piece of information (she knew so little of her grandmother, and yet all tales she had ever heard of Lady Joanna were of a woman so beautiful and strong Myrcella could scarcely contain awe at anything that brought her closer to the former Lady of Casterly Rock). Princess she is, and jewels and gems and gold had never been uncommon sight; yet Myrcella picks offered gift with reverent care, studying lion-shaped pendant with digits as much as gaze. Gratitude felt cannot be convened with simple thanks, but it is made known beyond words in how she accepts gift, in wonder displayed, in mixed apprehension and admiration shown towards legacy offered to her so. “Thank you, mother.”

Mother’s words, certain as they are, echo on her doubts (strike her as true, still, even if it brings questioning to the tip of her tongue). She is supposed to be a doe, or at very least a stag; Baratheons are not lions, nor are they golden haired and emerald eyed, yet she is one and the other, lioness and Baratheon both, impossible as this seems even to herself. Myrcella has her mother’s looks, has more than her looks alone; it is lion claws and lion teeth which suit her best, she thinks, even if she has less of a taste for blood than eldest brother. 

Wants to ask, wants to confess distress felt that lioness is not what she is supposed to be, but words never leave her throat, swallowed back to be forgotten (it is not something that would be taken kindly, she thinks, that she may have any wish to carry the legacy she is supposed to bear by birth as much as the one that comes to her so easily, natural as if she had been all Lannister and naught Baratheon). Those are not concerns to be shared but covered, masked so that they remain hers alone. “It is beautiful.” Grandmother had been a lioness from birth, not by marriage; Myrcella wonders if Joanna would have been pleased granddaughter feels more lioness than doe, if it would have made her pleased to have Myrcella carry anything of hers. “I will wear it proudly.”

[warwaged-archive]

TAG DROP: MYRCELLA MISC.

[diguerra-moved]

"Myrcella-.. for the love of all that is good, sit up straight. And stop fidgeting, please. You are perfectly fine." Cersei, fusses over straightening her dress, :B for Cella ofc

IC ASKS // always accepting.

Correction immediately has intended result, back straightened to the point of shoulders tense, visible effort to not be one inch out of place (posture that falters mere seconds after as she picks at jewelry that does not need fixing, but that seems to her all out of place). Lie as it would be to claim the princess to not be vain to a degree, seldom did she concern herself so much with appearance (had, after all, been blessed with mother’s beauty, as she was often complimented on); today it matters more, however, matters most. It is one thing to be complimented at court, to receive praise from ladies that sought her favor or lords who sought to cause an impression — she wants to cause an impression today. 

Absurd that her very intent on being at her very best causes what usually comes so easy to be lacking; she didn’t quite recall when last she had had to be corrected on sitting or behaving, both always gracefully done since she was little more than a babe. Does not complain as mother straightens dress, instead allows her to fix what needs fixing, deep breath taken in effort to calm herself (why was she so nervous? scarcely worth so much agitation when match made with the Starks may not even be hers, yet it would seem infatuation clouds her judgment; preposterous).

“Shouldn’t I wear the red one instead, mother?” Questions in spite of mother’s firm assurance, questions because she does not feel perfectly fine — or does not feel like perfectly fine is same as beautiful, or gorgeous or stunning, and fine feels much too flat, much too little. “ Perhaps I should change – I think it would complement me more than this one.”

[diguerra-moved]

tag drop: myrcella baratheon