MERCY.

CONFIRM  /  DENY:  accepting

CONFIRM  /  DENY:  accepting

❝ These are trial times we live in. If politically expedient ― I think I would take a wife. ❞

a facade was supposedly easy for her. whilst her husband’s thorns ruled with iron fist over the reach, myrcella had adopted the gentle mantle. a good balance. the firm and the soft. but her mask had slipped easily for him, a fact she was admittedly ashamed off. though she had smiled prettily, the venom behind it had been apparent, the sharpness of her teeth. her guards switch between curiosity and confusion, shifting uneasily at her side and she knows she hasn’t been nearly as subtle as she’d hoped. and she blamed him of course. for what was control when he was around? “my sincerest apologies then. perhaps that is my own cynical view that no one shares.”

it’s all news to her. because of course her husband doesn’t think to share this with her. why would he? what importance was a dornish envoy to his wife? she’d known he might one day return, but childish hope had her consider they’d find another. apparently not. “we will be pleased receive you. honoured even. your presence brought the warmth of the dornish sun to highgarden and i will look forward to hosting you once more.” her smile this time is far more subdued as she lays a hand on his forearm, squeezes gently in reassurance. the soft queen, the good queen. lady of spring indeed.

He wasn’t sure what would be of his days in Highgarden this time over. The King of the Reach believes Criston to be a friend but in the Reach and almost everywhere in the world, a Queen is not shared. He dreaded the long days ahead of him, playing war with a man and his paper sword. There was of course the part of him that wanted for no more, as he would sit through a lifetime of Gareth’s pointless speeches if it meant catching a glimpse of his favourtie ringlets bouncing through the lush green gardens. Alas, the notion was quick to pass for he smell of guilt, thrill and fear were all so pungent.

He had seen thay look in her eyes before, though he couldn’t remember what it mean. Whatever it was, he cared little to wound his ego. Criston wanted nothing more than to believe the honey that dripped from her mouth, but somehow kmew her long enough not to. What a story to tell. She could pretend her warmth was genuine and he would nod and take it for truth ― simply because he wished it to be. ❝  There’s nothing to apologise for, you haven’t offended me.  ❞ 

Though his smile wasn’t nearly as convicing as her, he did his best to retain a faiding gesture. After a moment he moved her hand in between both of his. ❝  One day soon.  ❞ His voice just above a whisper. 

HONESTY HOUR: not accepting.

HONESTY HOUR: not accepting.

❝ To my knowledge — no. I know no other Daynes bearing the name and I don’t believe it’s something I ever spoke about with my mother or even my father. I can only assume it is simply that; a name. ❞

HONESTY HOUR: not accepting.

❝ I think on both to be a luxury and for kindness to follow loyalty but I understand that isn’t always true. Whatever the case kindness does hearten a man who has within his grasp  any sort of power. ❞

These were decent enough reasons, but they were not the ones that Julia particularly wanted to hear. Luckily, these did not seem to be current motivations.  Duty, though. She could latch on to that. “Oh? Would it be too forward to ask to whom your sense of duty lies in?” While Julia made decisions for her own sake, she did in the end do most of them out of a sense of duty herself. She saw it as her duty to make success for everyone else as she went along her own way.

“If you are trying to make yourself sound unappealing, I do not know why you are trying so hard.” Julia shook her head and sighed. “He shall return eventually, but I do appreciate the offer. It might take more time to attempt to find the problem than to let it resolve itself. I am just stuck here for now, but I can withstand your company if you happen to require some.” Seeing as she did not have anything better to do out here. As long as he did not attempt to pull anything, everything would probably work out well enough.

 CRISTON LAUGH SOFTLY UNDER THE BRIM OF HIS CUP, thinking over his answer of ‘  to many people ’ more than just trite. Though his vices were many, none stuck out particularly like pride. But he liked to think it was a shared trait all Dornish bore. His allegiance did not waver like the waves that surrounded an lonely isle, nor shift when were it political expedient. ❝ Though, I have no qualms. It’s not a secret to be regarded and held close -  I have a duty to my daughters, my children, my house - my prince, his family, his birthright, our homeland. But it’s only the duty to my prince that brings me North and has allowed for this chance encounter.❞

❝ Is that true? ❞ He chuckled, unable to stop the crude noise from leaving his mouth. He didn’t know where the woman was from. Perhaps furthest North? He didn’t have enough encounters to chalk up her demeanor to all or even most Nothern women but couldn’t help but reduce her brashness to a cultural difference.

whilst he seemed to search for her eyes, she wanted to look anywhere but. eyes were always far too personal, too familiar. where memories faded, eyes would remain and she would rather avoid what his eyes might trigger. not when his words were bad enough. “then it is certainly a shame that we are both so very busy. i should very much like to hear that tale one day.” there’s an underlining tone of sarcasm, of course. for she is hesitant to let herself fall for anything he says now, and doubts there’s anything he can tell her that will end her years of grudge held. “i am glad that you at last have fond memories to look back on. we as people do have a funny way of sugarcoating when we get nostalgic.”

a woman usually so kind, and keen to see the best in others, and yet here she stood in the crowded tavern. no part of her wanted to forgive now, and perhaps it was childish of her to hold on to days long gone by. lord knows she was not the first to be left by him, and certainly would not be the last.

UNABLE TO BATHE IN THE OCEAN OF HER EYES, it seemed even comical to try and play a guessing game with her. It was difficult to tell if he spoke to a scorned lover or a stranger whose distaste went beyond secrete trysts and muffled whispers. He could hardly blame her for her cold cynicism. Criston would not think of himself so highly as to believe he had a hand in plying a soft girl into a woman throbbing with spite. She was after all, the queen of an entire kingdom, wife of a man who was all thorns. A place he was sure had never been for the faint of heart. That is how he he choose to rationalize the quiet spur he felt radiating off of her. ❝ With respect, your grace, I don’t believe I sounds so disenchanted. ❞

It was no secret that Dorne and The Reach had been in talks for sometime, that of course presented Criston as an envoy, a messenger. A fact that once pleased him, now only served to make him uneasy at the thought that he might have to return to Highgarden. ❝ I wish only to make amends. I am called upon by both my prince and your husband to return to your home before winter settle and so rhe last thing I wish for is to discomfort you, of course.  ❞