#oflioncss

There was an unusual chill in the air, the weather mimicked the feelings of all who were there. It was tense, quiet, and sorrowful. While some of the soldiers of each army were still boisterous and loud, probably enjoying the semblance of peace while it was there, many others seemed to be searching aimlessly for answers. It was a feeling Meredyth found herself relationg to almost constantly: aimless.

In her wandering, Meredyth happened upon a familiar face. Her long, blonde hair, fair skin, calm and cool voice was hard to miss. Meredyth always envied Cella in so many ways, but she imagined the challenges the other must face too, and now with losing her father, Meredyth could certainly relate and hopefully bring an old friend some comfort. She decided to walk over and enjoy some familiar company. "Hello, Cella." Mereydth said to the woman with a small smile. "I'm glad to have found you here, despite the circumstances. It's been too long."

No, it had not been a question, just a veiled comment disguised as a hypothetical. That much was true and as the King in the North looked at the girl who had thought herself a princess for much of her life, he felt something akin to pity filling his heart. He was too polite to call her a bastard to her face, of course, and truth be told, he had nothing against bastards. In fact, her legitimate status - or lack thereof - was not as much a concern to him as it would have been to others. No, the problem was that she had no right to a royal title anymore than her brother had a right to the Iron Throne.   

His family was at war with her own, even during this tenuous time of peace in Highgarden and Robb had no intention of telling the young woman his strategy, or the strategy of his cousin.

But he could not ignore her either and he exhaled softly before he responded again. It would be a kindness to assure her that her life - and that of her brother - were not in danger, not from him. 

“We will hardly execute innocents, my lady,” he said slowly. “But we both know your mother is hardly that.”

it wouldn’t be wrong to say he felt a little guilty, or well. he should have felt a little guilty. death after death after death had rocked highgarden in the space of a few heartbeats, and all renly really cared about was a certain knight with golden curls and smile that made him rest easier. renly didn’t have to worry about loras leaving in the morning, and he didn’t have to leave him sleeping alone either. guilt was a funny thing and he couldn’t even begin to feel it because he was happy. was that selfish of him? probably. did he care? not even a little bit. he and loras had a limited amount of time together, and the stormlord wasn’t about to waste it pretending to be something he wasn’t. renly did that enough when they were apart.

but he did care for his niece and nephew. whether they were robert’s or not. he had wanted to smack joffrey round the head more than once, it was only a shame that he hadn’t gotten the chance before the monstrous little shit had died. still, the boy had made renly laugh until he’d been escorted out when he’d had his arse beaten by arya stark. that was one good memory. myrcella and tommen were of a different sort, though. they were sweet and kind children, whom he’d watched grow up laughing through the halls of the red keep. legitimate or not, he had a soft spot for them; especially myrcella. 

stannis had wasted no time in dragging both children’s names through the mud - something he and renly had argued over for hours without reprieve. they were children. but then again, cersei would have poisoned their minds against renly, too. she always had been an infuriating woman, attached to a wine glass like it was her only friend. ( it probably was. ) despite that, he knew he had to at least go and talk to myrcella. joffrey had never been anyone’s favourite, or even the least bit liked, but she had returned from dorne to watch her older brother die. he knew exactly how that felt. 

catching sight of the young woman in the gardens, he smiled something soft; sympathetic. it was a rare occurrence, extremely rare going by how many times stannis told him to please shut up, but he found himself at a complete loss for words. 

“ myrcella, ” the baratheon began, leaning forward to press a kiss to her forehead. she really was just a child; she hadn’t chosen her parents’ crimes. “ what have they been feeding you in dorne? you’re almost as tall as i am. ”