strange to think that the sun in dornish skies is the same that lights king's landing : it seems it holds more power here, brighter and warmer both by far. even beneath canopies of silk arrayed for the purpose, the sun makes itself known, warming the pieces on the board set out before her.
"YOU HAVE BESTED ME. THAT MUCH IS CLEAR." @devotivn says, myrcella's pieces so carefully set out now encroaching on his own.
the princess smiles. with her golden hair, her green eyes, the dornish silks of her dress, she looks almost like some escaped drop of sunlight idling there in the shade. it is a sweetness, an innocence, she has turned as a weapon against other players. even trystane falls for it still, each time. when he is not trying to let her win.
"you are trying to lower my defenses, ser," she says, glancing from the pieces to his face. there are some moves yet at his disposal that could turn the game if he finds them, if she does not answer as she should. "i thought you better than such tactics." all the while she is smiling, laughter in the green of her eyes : there is no sharpness to it. "your next move awaits. unless, of course, you are conceding?"
it has taught her much, this game : more patience than she had known before she started learning it, and a taste - - the smallest sip - - of what they meant when they called her grandfather ruthless. all those threads pulled taught, one more to another, all that stood between you and the goal your opponent's pieces. but most of all, perhaps, knowledge of when the game was truly over and when to see it through until its bitter end.
"i have the advantage, but you may still take it from me. new to the game i may be, but that much i can see clearly."
