Cersei teaches Myrcella about her daughter's sexual orientation. (Short Story)
Two weeks remained before Myrcella Baratheon was to depart for Dorne. Her only little princess would soon become the ward and future wife of a Martell prince. Cersei remembered it as if it were yesterday: the moment she had finally given birth to her second child, a girl of her same beauty and with her same green eyes. She was a flesh-and-blood copy of herself. She had held her with the same tightness as the day she had brought Joffrey and Tommen into the world. Sometimes she wondered if her mother, Lady Joanna, had felt the same. She couldn't quite recall her face; only a blurry shadow of the late Lioness of the Rock. According to her aunt Gena, Joanna Lannister had been one of the family's most prized jewels, the woman who ruled the Lord of Casterly Rock not with commands, but with the power of love. Cersei thought she remembered the last time her mother had smiled at her. It was when she returned to King's Landing. From then on, Joanna behaved strangely: she seemed sad, distant, and wouldn't let anyone touch her. Cersei never understood why; not even the Lady of the Rock allowed herself to be touched by the innocent tenderness of her own children.
"They have torn me apart…" Those words, spoken by Joanna Lannister, were among the last she uttered before giving birth to Tyrion, her abominable brother. Cersei didn't want to remember what happened during that time of gestation. She could still hear her mother's whimpers and her father's uncontrollable fury. But it didn't matter anymore.
"Myrcella won't be a child forever!" Lady Tanda Stokeworth's witch had said, a sharp memory.
"Does your daughter know where babies come from, Cersei?" her aunt Gena's mocking voice echoed even further away.
"Who will you marry the child to, Cersei?" “—asked Marlessa Marbrand, her aunt by marriage.
—Think very carefully. When they strip your daughter of her virginity, Cersei, they will marry her off sooner or later at your husband’s behest. Anyone will convince King Robert to become your daughter’s consort.” It was Lord Tywin’s murmuring, authoritarian as ever, echoing in her memory like a judgment impossible to silence.
Cersei knew they were all right, and that the time had come to act as both mother and queen. She ordered her servants to prepare the library and place a vase of fruit, suitable for the quiet afternoon she would spend with her little princess. The moment had arrived to speak with her daughter about what every woman should know. The thought made her uneasy, but she clearly remembered how her septa had explained it to her, what her first time with Jaime had been like, and how she had learned to deceive Robert without him ever suspecting a thing. Cersei wore one of her favorite red queen's gowns, and her crown of engraved golden antlers adorned her diadem. She had embellished herself with pearls, gold, and emeralds, as befitted a lioness in her den. Finally, Myrcella arrived, wearing a beautiful pink dress with delicate ribbons adorning her head and waist.
"What does my lady mother wish?" the child asked with the elegance only a princess could possess. “Myrcella, it’s time we talked about where babies come from…” Cersei said in a measured tone. “Since you’ll soon be going to Dorne, I suppose you must know a few things.”
“My uncle said that babies are created when a man’s member joins a woman’s hole,” Myrcella replied innocently.
“Tyrion told you that?!” Cersei cried, horrified for a moment. Then she composed herself. “Never mind. Your uncle is wrong, and it’s time you learned the correct details.”
A servant entered the library and placed a pink-covered book on the table, titled “Anatomy of Women and Pregnancy.” It contained several ink illustrations and delicate drawings depicting the development of the female body from childhood until the onset of menstruation, usually between the ages of thirteen and fourteen, though in rare cases it could occur earlier. This was only the introduction.
“Listen carefully, Myrcella.” Not everything concerning a woman is spoken aloud, but it is a mother's duty to teach what the world will demand of you.
The girl nodded, sitting up straight, her hands in her lap.
"Within every woman's body is a womb, a sacred place where life can take root. Each moon, that womb prepares itself, like a garden before planting. When there is no seed to receive, the body sheds what has not been used… and that is what we call menstrual bleeding."
Myrcella frowned.
"Is it an illness?"
"No," Cersei replied firmly. "It is a sign that your body is growing as it should. It is uncomfortable, sometimes painful, but it is also a promise: the promise that one day you will bear heirs. All women endure it, queens and peasants alike."
Cersei turned the page and continued, her voice lower.
“When a woman is taken by her husband, he deposits his seed within her, a fluid containing tiny white tadpoles. Inside these tadpoles are encapsulated babies. Each baby is different, but we commonly call them male seed. If the womb is ready, this seed finds a small, invisible egg, and together they begin to grow.”
“And does that hurt?” Myrcella asked, almost in a whisper. Cersei hesitated for a moment before answering.
“Sometimes. Sometimes not. It depends on the man and the woman. Duty rarely asks if one is prepared.” The queen took a deep breath before continuing.
“If the seed takes, the womb protects the child for nine months. At first, it is nothing more than a faint heartbeat, but over time it develops into a boy or a girl. During that time, the mother’s body changes, becoming heavy, tired…” Myrcella lowered her gaze.
“And the first time?” Cersei cupped her daughter's face in her hands, forcing her to look at her.
"Every maiden is born with an inner veil, a thin barrier that marks childhood. On your wedding night, that veil is torn away. It's something many remember with fear or shame, but you mustn't feel guilt. It's not a loss, but a step the world demands of women of your name."
The girl swallowed.
"Will I be brave?"
Cersei's lips curled into a strained smile.
"You are a Baratheon and a Lannister. The world won't ask you if you are brave, Myrcella. It will simply expect you to be."
it came to her suddenly that she had stood in this very spot before, on the day lord eddard stark had lost his head. that was not supposed to happen. joff was supposed to spare his life and send him to the wall. [...]
the memories seemed so distant. joffrey was dead, and all stark’s sons as well. even her father had perished. and here she stood on the steps of the great sept again, only this time it was her the mob was staring at, not eddard stark.
theartofmadeline
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
yousharknotpass
areudirty
prguitarman
discoholicmusic
stormborns
ellievsbear
