screen your worry from what you won't ever find | myrcella and tommen [october 2005]
As the silence engulfed him, it was as if his ears were playing tricks on him. Someone was coming down the hall, they suggested, but surely not. Still in his fear he laid back down in haste, ramming his eyes shut. If someone looked in on him and saw him awake, well, that wouldn’t be good.
When he heard his door whisper however, he stayed as still as could be, his eyes closed so tight a crease formed between his brows. I should’ve turned away from the door, Tommen thought after the fact. Still, he allotted one eye to open just a smidgen, so he might know who in fact made his door move. He had heard the door speak as well, but he was too out of sorts to successfully identify it. He hoped it was his mother, she’d tell him there was nothing to worry about, and that she loved him, and that he was her little lion after kissing his head. That would make him feel better.
He saw a golden figure in the doorway, but she was considerably shorter than his mum. Squinting in the face of the light blinding his face as the door opened more, he saw his sister. “Myrcella?” He questioned, the tone of his voice sounding more awake than anything. Myrcella carried with her Mr. Unicorn as she entered his room.
"What are you doing?" He squirmed in his bed. Hopefully his sister will believe that he had been asleep instead of awake during the ruckus. "Is everything alright?"
The distance from the doorway to her brother’s bed is too far. In the dark, with the faint moonlight spilling across the floorboard, she could only make out the glint on his golden hair. Myrcella? is the only reply she receives and it’s enough to make her push the door wider and run from where she stood hesitantly to Tommen’s bed. Her footsteps had been loud (and quick but mostly, loud), but the shouting below them had been louder. She doubts they would even notice.
They think she’s asleep. They think Tommen is asleep.
“Silly,” she says, climbing on top of his bed. Myrcella crawls closer next to him, where she pulled the sheets over and comfortably shifted underneath. Mr. Unicorn is resting between them. He was no longer as white and pristine as he had been. On on of his legs were grass stains, near his tail was a stain left by crayons and paint. Still perfect, however, for Myrcella and she took him where she went. “I said knock, knock and you say who’s there?” Myrcella nods her head once, her tone is in a strict matter-of-fact voice.
“It’s a joke,” Myrcella explains. She had learned it from the kids in her class. Earlier she had asked Joffrey the same question in the car. He told her to shut up. The joke was lame. He had heard before. “You’re meant to laugh.”
(She hears the sound of wood scrapping against the floor, the sounds of fist falling on the surface of the desk. She doesn't say anything, doesn't mention it.)
