( They have not been introduced; and indeed, she has no idea that the lady knows much of her at all. Of the Dornish alliance gone awry, or her death. In the end, it matters little. She appears as a younger, gentler incarnation of her mother, hair falling in loose curls, green gaze soft and sombre rather than sharp or calculating.
She dips her head, not quite able to smile. But her expression is pleasant, if cool. It hides her wariness well. )
Your Grace. ( Her brother is king, but this lady is queen of a city in her own right. She has no hesitation in using the title. ) Please forgive me for being remiss and not introducing myself sooner.
[ The soft girls of her sworn enemies, gathering in spite of the multiplicity of the universe and, in Myrcella's case, death. She sees, a little, the same near-invisible wall behind this one's eyes as there had been in Sansa's.
Daenerys' own countenance is neither cold nor incensed. A hint of rue to her study, an acknowledgement of strange circumstance, a slightly too knowing glint in her eye.
Her mouth pinched at the corners, before she speaks. ]
Lady Myrcella, [ she says. ] I wouldn't expect everyone of our world to declare themselves to me, eventually or otherwise.
[ She adds, a hint wry; ]
That, and you've no doubt been occupied with the election.
( Her step-father had ever held up the name Targaryen like a spectre; as if a boy and a girl on the other side of the world would kill everyone they held dear. In her youth, she'd rarely thought of it, let alone in such a context. Much has passed between then and now, and she certainly considers what innocence and ignorance had once put from her mind.
Her gaze remains steady, her expression calm; and she does not lower her head again. Instead, she takes in that glint in the other woman's eyes and turns it over inwardly. )
It is only right. Septa Eglantine taught me that courtesy done unto others was more likely to be repaid.
( Ah, that. She nods her head. )
I had been, and I have lost. But the effort itself was worthwhile. Have you found something to pursue in this new land as well?
[ But only half. Still, the twinge of the smile that sparks at Myrcella's summary of her wading into American politics, such as they are, is not disingenuous. Fair enough.
It would have been easy to imagine Baratheon-Lannister assumptiveness in such an early power move, but even before this call, it struck her as reductive. ]
I have my occupations. I sell gowns.
[ Her tone indicates that this is both more than it sounds as well as exactly as it sounds, self-aware without being self-deprecating. ]
And images, and magazines, and interviews. This land asks both a great deal of its people, and very little.
( She can concede to that; Septa Eglantine hadn't been born into a great house, which tends to shift the goal posts, as it were. )
I suppose so; she and Prince Doran and others shielded me all my life from the reality of things. Such as how others might suffer for things my family has done.
( There is no will left in her to defend her mother, though she'll always love her fiercely. And there'd not ever truly been any to do the same where Joffrey was concerned. She allows her gaze to meet the other woman's for a long moment, realizing just how close in age the pair of them must truly be. )
What sort of gowns? ( Her interest is genuine. ) I have a need of... adjusting, to the customs of this world.
( And she finds them to be in agreement again as a shadow of a smile crosses her face. )
Court was not so much different, aside from the photographers. Gossip and shallow pursuits were popular pastimes. You have done well for yourself here, then. I'm glad.
A future in which I can help others and exercise my own independence at once? Yes, I can.
[ It would be hypocritical of Daenerys to sail to Westeros, stand before the crowds of nobles and common folk alike, and demand that they do not assign to her the sins of her father, and then dismiss the gentle manner in which this girl -- woman, really, she cannot be far younger than herself -- broaches the subject of her kin.
Through the digital feed, she holds Myrcella's eye, and takes a deeper breath. What sort of gowns. ]
I'll show you.
[ She brings her communicator in closer to send Myrcella a link to a gallery of high end dresses, labelled STORMBORN X MARQ. They seem as modern as anything else of this land, but perhaps some Westerosi sensibility it its lines, its folded draping.
As she taps the correct buttons, she offers a ghost of a smile, and says; ]
And neither of those things are exactly the same as politics, for all that there exists the hope that they might be.
( Each and every one of them could stand in a circle pointing fingers and passing about blame upon each other until they were blue in the face. Here or in Westeros, it wouldn't matter; the end result would be the same: that it is a pointless pursuit. Death has marked her, changed her; but she never would have ascribed the crimes committed by the Mad King to his daughter.
She is guarded, now, but for reasons they all must be to be mired here together. )
Thank you.
( She pauses for a long moment as she taps the link and admires the site's content once it loads. She has been hesitant to fully embrace the fashion of this land, and appreciates the small similarity between these and garments she'd grown up with as a girl.
Myrcella taps away from the link, and smiles back at her, a touch warmer. )
They're beautiful. And no, they're not; but they're my reasons to pursuit it. I watched Prince Doran rule a peaceful country successfully for several years in Dorne.
I wanted the same, and want the same here, should the people choose me.
( A better legacy than what her elder brother has left behind, the gods know. )
[ Knowing what she knows of Martells, of Lannisters, and listening to Myrcella speak now, the irony is almost galling. And Daenerys can't quite keep it out of her expression, her mouth flat and her brow tense down the centre.
Her thumb idles against the edge of her communicator.
And she seems to arrive at some sort of conclusion, and asks; ]
Would you speak to me, of Dorne?
[ Instead of, say, the Lannisters, and their existing opinion about peaceful countries. ]
( For a long moment of silence, Myrcella watches her calmly — that question being one which strikes her interest. She tilts her head, and then inclines it in assent. )
Of the country itself, or House Martell? I am happy to, whichever may be the case.
( Yes, best not speak of how House Lannister approaches the concept of peace; that being it is good solely if it benefits the family. )
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She dips her head, not quite able to smile. But her expression is pleasant, if cool. It hides her wariness well. )
Your Grace. ( Her brother is king, but this lady is queen of a city in her own right. She has no hesitation in using the title. ) Please forgive me for being remiss and not introducing myself sooner.
My name is Myrcella of House Baratheon.
no subject
Daenerys' own countenance is neither cold nor incensed. A hint of rue to her study, an acknowledgement of strange circumstance, a slightly too knowing glint in her eye.
Her mouth pinched at the corners, before she speaks. ]
Lady Myrcella, [ she says. ] I wouldn't expect everyone of our world to declare themselves to me, eventually or otherwise.
[ She adds, a hint wry; ]
That, and you've no doubt been occupied with the election.
no subject
step-father had ever held up the name Targaryen like a spectre; as if a boy and a girl on the other side of the world would kill everyone they held dear. In her youth, she'd rarely thought of it, let alone in such a context. Much has passed between then and now, and she certainly considers what innocence and ignorance had once put from her mind.Her gaze remains steady, her expression calm; and she does not lower her head again. Instead, she takes in that glint in the other woman's eyes and turns it over inwardly. )
It is only right. Septa Eglantine taught me that courtesy done unto others was more likely to be repaid.
( Ah, that. She nods her head. )
I had been, and I have lost. But the effort itself was worthwhile. Have you found something to pursue in this new land as well?
no subject
[ But only half. Still, the twinge of the smile that sparks at Myrcella's summary of her wading into American politics, such as they are, is not disingenuous. Fair enough.
It would have been easy to imagine Baratheon-Lannister assumptiveness in such an early power move, but even before this call, it struck her as reductive. ]
I have my occupations. I sell gowns.
[ Her tone indicates that this is both more than it sounds as well as exactly as it sounds, self-aware without being self-deprecating. ]
And images, and magazines, and interviews. This land asks both a great deal of its people, and very little.
Do you see, for yourself, a future in politics?
no subject
I suppose so; she and Prince Doran and others shielded me all my life from the reality of things. Such as how others might suffer for things my family has done.
( There is no will left in her to defend her mother, though she'll always love her fiercely. And there'd not ever truly been any to do the same where Joffrey was concerned. She allows her gaze to meet the other woman's for a long moment, realizing just how close in age the pair of them must truly be. )
What sort of gowns? ( Her interest is genuine. ) I have a need of... adjusting, to the customs of this world.
( And she finds them to be in agreement again as a shadow of a smile crosses her face. )
Court was not so much different, aside from the photographers. Gossip and shallow pursuits were popular pastimes. You have done well for yourself here, then. I'm glad.
A future in which I can help others and exercise my own independence at once? Yes, I can.
no subject
Through the digital feed, she holds Myrcella's eye, and takes a deeper breath. What sort of gowns. ]
I'll show you.
[ She brings her communicator in closer to send Myrcella a link to a gallery of high end dresses, labelled STORMBORN X MARQ. They seem as modern as anything else of this land, but perhaps some Westerosi sensibility it its lines, its folded draping.
As she taps the correct buttons, she offers a ghost of a smile, and says; ]
And neither of those things are exactly the same as politics, for all that there exists the hope that they might be.
no subject
She is guarded, now, but for reasons they all must be to be mired here together. )
Thank you.
( She pauses for a long moment as she taps the link and admires the site's content once it loads. She has been hesitant to fully embrace the fashion of this land, and appreciates the small similarity between these and garments she'd grown up with as a girl.
Myrcella taps away from the link, and smiles back at her, a touch warmer. )
They're beautiful. And no, they're not; but they're my reasons to pursuit it. I watched Prince Doran rule a peaceful country successfully for several years in Dorne.
I wanted the same, and want the same here, should the people choose me.
( A better legacy than what her elder brother has left behind, the gods know. )
no subject
Her thumb idles against the edge of her communicator.
And she seems to arrive at some sort of conclusion, and asks; ]
Would you speak to me, of Dorne?
[ Instead of, say, the Lannisters, and their existing opinion about peaceful countries. ]
no subject
Of the country itself, or House Martell? I am happy to, whichever may be the case.
( Yes, best not speak of how House Lannister approaches the concept of peace; that being it is good solely if it benefits the family. )
Please, your grace. Ask whatever you like.