She does not want to be of use to him, nor to anyone (save perhaps her
family, but perhaps it is already too late for that). She wants to live, but
some fates are worse than death, and she does not wish to discover them.
In war, “use” could mean anything - - and she will not be used, not against
her family.
So she lifts her chin and keeps her gaze calm and steady, and she does
not give him the benefit of seeing her fear.
Instead, she studies him without speaking for a moment: the furs, the
hard, sharp edges that time and war have given him. In her own gown
- - green and gold, a mix of styles and fabrics from Dorne and from the
Westerlands, blended expertly - - and jewels, her hair a cascade of curls
braided to crown her head and then tumbling over her shoulders, she is
all softness. Early summer to his winter, and she can FEEL it. It means she
must be strong in any way she knows how, must not let him frighten her.
She is a princess, the daughter of Cersei Lannister and Robert
Baratheon (or so she thinks). And different though he may be, what
is he to her but a boy she once knew? Wolves and lions, yes, meeting
with wary eyes, with claws and teeth kept hidden until they are needed.
“My lord, if you think I shall submit to serve you in any way, you are
mistaken. If that means my death and you have the stomach to kill
defenseless women, then so be it. Living or dead, I shall not be of
use to those who make themselves my family’s enemies.”
‘ i made myself no enemy. my lord father was killed by your brother. ’
it’s almost astonishing, the defiance of a lion. ( and he must not forget that that is what she is—though her teeth may be hiding, they will surely soon jut and bare, and had fingers encroached, they would snap and sever until naught remained. ) but there is no fear simmering in the air—there is none dripping from the smaller, flickering form, and none quivering from a fair lip.
‘ your brother incited a war. ’
and she is no defenceless woman. she is a lannister, and any past affection, any tolerance or feigned kinship ( for her father was robert baratheon, and though time spent together was fleeting—the feast at winterfell and days here and there after, and only when they were both children ) has been stripped, replaced with an equally manufactured hate for lannisters.
‘ i do not expect anything. but i fought this war for lannister blood, and for what’s right. if not for my father, then for all the northmen who have laid down their lives for my cause. but my father would never murder prisoners after a battle. ’ this is not the first lannister robb has spared in battle, though this time, butting heads with his mother won’t be an issue—and myrcella will not be freed so easily. bargained, perhaps, for the true autonomy he’d sought, but not killed, nor freed.
‘ you will not be harmed. ’
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