Myrcella
Overall, despite some difficulties, she quickly grew close to Doran's children and found common ground with them. Things did not go nearly so smoothly, however, with Oberyn's daughters.
The Red Viper had no sons, but he had plenty of daughters—eight girls in total, whom others nicknamed the Sand Snakes.
Oberyn had a dark reputation as a duelist and a poisoner, and his daughters, born of different mothers, tried not to be outdone by their infamous father.
They became a true nightmare for Myrcella, showing contempt or even open hostility at every opportunity, never missing a chance to remind her that her grandfather Tywin and his men were responsible for the deaths of their aunt Elia and her children.
The people of Dorne, too, were unlike the knights of the western lands. They were kinder and more cunning, more compassionate and more indifferent, more mysterious and more straightforward all at once. In short, they were different—and Myrcella, with her keen observation and lively mind, quickly learned to notice and understand those differences.
And she still could not fully grow accustomed to Dorne itself. At first, she thought it was simply a hot and stifling land. And so it was.
Rain was rare in Dorne. Near Sunspear it was still bearable, but farther inland, for the most part, there was only pale, fine sand stretching to the horizon.
Several times, accompanied by Prince Trystane, his men, and Ser Arys Oakheart, she ventured out into the scorching, oven-like vastness.
Sometimes the wind swept across the dunes, covering them in fine ripples and setting the sands shifting and crumbling; at other times, the merciless white sun hung overhead, fierce and unyielding, killing all living things beneath it.
It seemed to her that the sun here was twice as large as the one above Casterly Rock, and four times as hot. There was no grass as soft and green as she was used to at home.
They went falcon hunting many times. The rugged, weather-beaten horsemen whistled, shouted something, and seemed entirely at ease. She, not yet knowing their language, could not understand them. The wind drove countless grains of sand beneath her clothes, and every fold of fabric became a blade that cut into her skin.
At first, she believed that this was what all of Dorne must be like. In time, she learned of its other faces: high, cold mountains with narrow paths and roaring winds; beautiful oases amid the sands, where clear streams flowed and date palms heavy with fruit grew; gentle, welcoming rivers. She also came to know the sea—sometimes turquoise, sometimes blue, sometimes menacingly purple, sometimes nearly black when storms rose.
And she fell in love with the Water Gardens—a paradise set within this scorching and varied land.
"Myrcella!" called a familiar, dear voice. Prince Trystane pushed aside the branches and stepped into her refuge. "Are you hiding?"
He came closer, embraced her, and kissed her on the lips. Myrcella responded with a joyful and sensual kiss. However, she was prudent enough not to let herself be carried away. Trystane was very charming, and with each passing week he came closer and closer to taking her maidenhood before their wedding.
And his hands grew bolder, and at the same time more tender… She both wanted it and feared it. Her mother's words echoed clearly in her mind: virginity is something a girl should cherish. Lose it, and who knew what might follow?
Lysa Tully had lost hers and then struggled to marry for years. In the end, her father had given her to a sixty-year-old man who smelled of mold and damp stone. Do not repeat other people's mistakes, her mother used to say.
So Myrcella endured, waiting for her wedding day and quietly preparing herself for it, wishing only that it would come sooner.
"I was just thinking about home," she said, as they sat together on the edge of the pool, their fingers intertwined.
"Are you missing your family again?" the prince asked, peering intently into her eyes.
"Very," she admitted. She kept no secrets from him.
"Then I'll make you happy," he said with a satisfied smile, drawing a letter from inside his tunic. "This is for you."
"Where is it from?" Myrcella brightened at once.
"From King's Landing."
"The king's seal…" She studied the wax, where the crowned stag and lion were pressed together. What could Joffrey want from her? He had never shown much interest in her feelings or thoughts before.
The letter proved unexpectedly warm and friendly. Her brother asked how she felt, how she was living, and whether she needed anything. He sent his regards to Prince Trystane and all his family, adding that they missed her greatly. He then wrote of himself, of his wife, of the wedding, and shared a few amusing bits of news.
At the end, there were several lines written in Margaery's own hand—she wished Myrcella well and said outright that she would be glad to correspond more often.
The letter left her puzzled. She could not believe Joffrey had changed so much in so short a time. She had not seen him for nearly half a year and was surprised not only by the fact that he had written, but by the words themselves.
Myrcella thought for a moment, then handed the thin parchment to Trystane. There were no secrets there.
That same evening, she wrote a reply, which Trystane sent on her behalf.
Another letter from Joffrey and Margaery soon followed—they seemed to understand how much she needed this connection. Their words allowed her to feel not merely like Prince Trystane Martell's betrothed, but like Myrcella Lannister, a daughter of a great and wealthy house that remembered its own blood.
Yes—Lannister, not Baratheon.
By then, she already knew all the rumors that had spread after King Robert's death. And she even understood that there was not a single lie among them. The truth had shocked her deeply, and she wept for days, scarcely leaving her chambers.
Dorne—sunlit and clear, a land where sorrow seemed fleeting—helped heal her. Moreover, the Dornish viewed such matters far more simply than the people of the west.
Then something happened that she did not learn of at once.
A raven arrived bearing an official letter, in which Lord Tywin Lannister, Hand of the King, thanked Prince Doran for caring for Myrcella and stated that all of King's Landing missed her dearly and therefore wished to see her. Prince Doran himself, along with Princes Quentyn and Trystane, were invited as well.
And, of course, Myrcella had no idea what a headache this letter caused Prince Doran. He sat for a long while in silence, sipping pomegranate juice and pondering its meaning. In the careful wording, he sensed changes not yet fully revealed.
It seemed to him that the Lannisters had begun a new game…
(End of Chapter)
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