#v. a lamb among wolves || northern

[mvrcellas]

@theyoungwclf said, "You should not be here in my chambers. . ." oops

although the metaphor must be used to death at this point, myrcella had never felt more like a deer caught in a wolf's GAZE. her spine stiffened and the baratheon princess turned quickly to face the king of the north with a red face. it took a brief second for her to swallow her nerves, hands clasped behind her back before she averted her gaze and gave a polite bow of her head. "my apologies -- i..." she was torn. tell him the TRUTH or embellish a bit to make herself seem less... vulnerable, perhaps. her mother's warning in her mind -- telling her that the more she showed herself to the stark man, the easier it would be for him to destroy her.

"to tell you the truth..." cersei be damned. "i've never experienced a snow storm before. i'm embarrassed to admit it, but i might have been a little -- afraid. tease me if you wish, but i didn't know who else to go to."

[mvrcellas]

some days, myrcella felt as though she were traveling through mud. everything was slow and distant, voices sounded miles away. other days were crystal clear to a fault and burned into her mind to the point where every moment played on repeat when she attempted to sleep. she'd seen enough blood and murder and suffering by this point -- but she still remained herself. or tried to, at least. for her benefit but more for those around her. after all, she saw the way that jaime and tyrion looked at her... like she was some BEACON. like she was different than the others. she couldn't let the darkness of life dim her light lest they begin viewing her with disappointment.

"is that supposed to comfort me or terrify me, uncle?" she couldn't help but ask -- the princess sensed the awkwardness, felt this borderline unfamiliarity. she DID hear of the things that he's done over the years, but... they paled in comparison to the stories she had heard of joffrey, of her mother. she hadn't seen the red keep in years -- it had been since girlhood that she had sported a king's landing hair style, since she had her face held in her mother's hand. her last memories of her father were those of his jolly laugh as he hugged her at the entrance to winterfell. everything had changed: how could she have expected tyrion to stay the same?

she took hold of a goblet, poured it to the brim with the rich red wine of the north and handed it to the lannister man before pouring her own and taking a long drink from it. there was a quiet for a moment as she listened to the crackling of the hearth, swirled the wine in her cup and looked down into it hoping for some sort of vision or prophecy. she broke the silence softly. "i'm afraid," came her admission, smile tense and shoulders heavy. "i was meant for needlepoint, not... fighting the dead. the sentence alone makes me feel as though i'm out of my body." suddenly, like a punch to her stomach, she missed home. she missed the years before. she missed robb. she missed innocence and sunlight and warmth on her skin. she missed her ignorance and the light she carried inside of her.

"do you think we'll survive?"

@mvrcellas liked for a ts starter (spotify picked safe & sound)

𝘀𝗺𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝘀𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗹𝗲𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘀𝘂𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻𝗴𝘀𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝗹𝗼𝘂𝗱𝘆 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸 , that has been what his niece was since the moment she was born. a family riddled with conflict and a toxicity that would warrant a maester , yet somehow a beautiful thing such as myrcella was born. she was the beauty of both mother and father , though the kindness she possessed couldn't be bought with all the gold on casterly rock. it remained a mystery to tyrion , it left clever mind perplexed.

it had been years since he saw her last. death and betrayal littered their family name , even more so now. tyrion did unthinkable things , and he was sure myrcella has heard of it. for the whole bloody realm seemed to know of the monster he was ( and maybe in truth , he has finally earned this title ) but being the hand of daenerys stormborn was his penance , or so he thinks. they're all in winterfell now , the fight with the dead being one last frontier to conquer before their last : her mother. he cannot speak for certain where his niece's loyalties lay , but she is here with the starks , with her father. that must mean something , tyrion thinks.

❝ ──── just close your eyes , the sun is going down. ❞ he mutters to his niece , offering comfort in an awkward sort of way. it wasn't quite familial , but it wasn't aloof either. tyrion is unsure of where he stands in myrcella's eyes , though he does wish to have one last go at the lannister sunshine before death marches on.

[mvrcellas]

@theyoungwclf said, Robb kisses on Cella's neck ( as a birthday treat )

her face and neck are positively SCARLET with her blush -- myrcella was bound to forget herself if he kept this up. but luckily (or, unluckily), she managed to grab what was left of her wits and gently tilt robb's face up with a hand under his chin. "your mother or one of your bannermen could walk in at any moment," came a quiet and, perhaps a tad fearful, warning -- emerald eyes shot at the opening of the tent, tied closed with one of the most haphazard knots she's ever seen. "you would never hear the end of it and neither would i." she HATED herself for her propriety, for the little voice in her head that warned about rules and being PROPER.

if her family knew that she was ruined by the sworn king of the north, after all, she might just be locked away in a tower for the rest of her days. the blonde did her best to create the bare minimum of distances, regretting every second that she let her good manners win over her wants and needs. damn him. and damn her, quite frankly. perhaps she was damned either way. "you're making it very difficult to... listen to REASON, robb."

[mvrcellas]

@theyoungwclf said, "i am an asset, if not a friend."

a friend. there was a split second where her emotions almost betrayed her and leaked through to her facial expression -- surprise, mild confusion, and a bit of... apprehension. it was that moment in which myrcella baratheon realized that she has never heard that word in relation to her: friend. but she was ever the lady and ever the diplomat -- her mother's teachings held fast and so did she. there might have been a moment of lag on her part, a beat that was missed but she recovered all the same with a gracious smile and a slight, polite bow.

"you honor me, sire." outwardly perfect, playing her part exactly as she was told to. but internally, she churned. a friend. was she allowed such a thing? would SHE allow herself to have such a thing? there was a second where she was afraid her smile might falter -- she's never been alone before. the north had been SO different from her life in the red keep. there was no one here to watch her, guide her, move her like a pawn in some game. she could be herself -- although, she wasn't quite sure who SHE was.

"i didn't think you would want to consider me a friend," the blonde found herself admitting and instantly wondered WHY she would say such a thing. maybe it was because she was allowed to. who could stop her? "another ward feels as though it might be burdensome -- especially when i'm nowhere near as useful as theon. but i will do my best to earn your friendship as you would like to give it."