in hindsight, perhaps wearing a bodice inspired by the proud stag of house baratheon had been a poor choice ─ even putting it on had been difficult, the metal antlers digging into the soft insides of their arms until jocelyn had been forced to push their chest out and pull their arms back to ease the discomfort. they had only accepted one dance, with their lord father, being sulking in the corner of the grand hall in a rather unflattering position. no one expected much from jocelyn to begin with and, for the first time in their life, they found themselves glad of the fact, even if they seized the chance to follow their older sister out of the room with the excuse of checking on myrcella before sprinting ( or rather, awkwardly hobbling to avoid being stabbed in the breast again ) out of sight.
after struggling with the decorated bodice for a moment, jocelyn huffed, irritated, and stalked through the corridor in search of their sibling, nudging myrcella with their foot.
❝ what ? that's not fair. did father say you could ? ❞ for a moment, they were possessed by the urge to bite their sister but they tampered it down, one hand on their ribcage. ❝ wait. can you help me with this ? just ... there's a clip on the side to unhook it from the bodice. i'll cover for you if you want to hide away here and read like a maester, just ... get me out of this. ❞
myrcella's gaze lifted from her book just in time for jocelyn's foot to nudge against her leg. her eyes drifted toward the offending bodice and the antlers currently making their sibling's life miserable. the corners of her mouth twitched -- just slightly.
"who says i said anything to father?" she asked, amusement threading through her voice. "for all he knows, i am still being terribly dutiful somewhere inside that hall."
closing the book around one finger to keep her place, myrcella shifted forward on the couch and set the volume aside. she rose without complaint, moving closer to inspect the complicated arrangement of straps, metal, and questionable artistic decisions.
"gods above," she murmured as her fingers searched along the side of the bodice. "was your intention to resemble a stag or to become one?"
it took a moment before she found the clasp in question. carefully, she worked the fastening loose, mindful not to catch fabric or skin in the process. once the pressure eased, myrcella stepped back slightly to assess the damage.
"there," she said as another faint smile appeared. "and unfortunately i was reading long before you offered your help. your bribery came much too late."
" and i have no business insisting that you return, " mela quips, lowering herself to the cool stone of the bench the baratheon has claimed for herself. she remains a respectful distance away, pale green skirts drooping over its edge to pool on the red stone floor. " so i suppose we are in agreement. " in the dimmed torchlight, mela can close her eyes momentarily and imagine she is in the shade of the orchards in the arbor. there is no characteristic coolness, no plush grass beneath her spine, no stone fruits scenting the air with their sweetness. " this place is a cess pit, " she admits to the silence, opening her eyes once more to look to the other lady. dark eyes fall on the pale parchment closed around a finger. " what is it you are reading? " she moves past her admittance deftly, the insult to the realm's capital a glancing blow.
myrcella offered no immediate disagreement to mela's statement of king's landing. perhaps because there was none to give. the city possessed a certain grandeur, certainly, but it was the sort of grandeur built atop too many people, too much noise, and far too little air. beautiful from a distance. considerably less so once one found themselves trapped inside it.
her gaze drifted briefly toward the narrow window. beyond it, the city stretched endlessly beneath the evening sky.
"it is very different from the storm's end." was what she said finally. she missed it, truth be told. the crashing waves below the cliffs. rain against ancient stone. familiar winds that carried salt rather than the scents of a city far too crowded for its own good.
only then did her attention return to the question and she lifted the book slightly.
"simply a collection of folklore -- stories from across the known world," she answered, her thumb brushed absentmindedly across the worn spine. "most of them are probably nonsense which, admittedly, tends to make them more interesting."
the stench of king's landing was only as powerful in the first days of their arrival, made more bearable by the cloud of sweet spices vaiora doused herself in each morning, reapplying and reapplying and reapplying as needed. still, she found she loved it anyway. king's landing. the blackwater bay. though, she found that she could love any place if she tried hard enough.
familiarity seen even through the dark, the corners of her eyes crinkle warmly in recognition, cheeks lifting as she smiles. "none as pretty as you," vaiora calls out in sweet reply, palm pressed to her cheek. "i did not imagine to find you here." though, one could say the same for the redwyne. even with her jewels tucked away, vaiora could not so easily abandon the airs of a lady. "even with a sneer, you still look awfully lovely."
seora's lip curled automatically at the compliment, though the effect was ruined somewhat by the amusement flickering in her eyes.
"you should know better than to encourage me." her gaze swept briefly over the redwyne, taking in the familiar elegance that seemed to follow her no matter how far she strayed from court. "keep talking like that and i'll start believing i'm the prettiest thing in the city."
her attention drifted toward the crowded harbor before returning to vaiora. of all the faces she might have expected to find among the feast crowds, this had not been one of them.
"run along, vaoira," she said with a swing of the flask and the wave of a hand. "i'd hate to discover i've become a bad influence on a lady of the arbor."
the accusation lacked any real bite. if anything, she sounded pleased by the possibility.
erik nodded while she spoke. seora had every right to be hesitant and she had every right to want to throw him overboard. it would be a welcomed death, he wasn't afraid. he knew that what happened that night was partially his fault... he couldn't do anything to change it, though.
what happened with suho was unforgivable and there was nothing he could do to bring him back... even though he prayed to the drowned gods every night for the harlaw's happiness. "that's fine, seora. if what will make you feel better, you will be able to throw me overboard. no one will stop you." he told her honestly.
he turned back towards the ship, allowing her to see that no matter what, he trusted her, even if she didn't right now. he was looking forward to the warm drink, even if it might end in a heated argument. erik didn't have a plan for this conversation, nor did he hope for anything to occur but he wanted to start building the bridge back, better than they were before.
for a moment, he wished it was easier but he has no idea what's its like to lose a child or a sibling or nephew. he knows what it's like to lose his parents but that is not comparable. "i would hope we can end the evening just happy to see some old friends but i know that may be asking for too much." he said.
erik sat down and crossed his legs, motioning for the harlaw to sit as well. "if you would prefer to stand though, i don't mind. i am just tired from trying to get rodrick to sleep, he wanted to go back on the boat even though we've been at sea for days." he chuckled. "i would love for you to meet him." erik told her truthfully.
his answer should not have irritated her. yet, somehow, it did. if that will make you fell better. as though grief could be measured so simply. as though throwing him into the sea would somehow return suho to her sister's arms. as though any amount of greyjoy blood could fill the hollow space left behind.
she followed him aboard in silence, dark eyes tracking the easy way he turned his back to her. trust. or stupidity. sometimes she found the two difficult to distinguish. perhaps that was another thing she resented. even now, erik still trusted her.
any trace of softness vanished from her face when he mentioned rodrick. for a heartbeat, all she she could think about was suho. his bright laughter and his future that no longer existed.
and then... rodrick. alive. three years old. alive. her close friend's son. alive.
that ugly feeling made an appearance again, twisting briefly beneath her ribs. she hated it.
"would you?" she asked him quietly as she slowly lowered herself into the seat opposite him. "that's an interesting thing to say to a woman who just threatened you with a knife."
LOCATION: kings landing docks ... a day before the feast
STATUS: closed ( @retrouviel )
erik had yet to see the ruling lady since the death of suho but that would not stop him from seeing seora. their friendship spanned the course of his entire life and he wanted nothing more than the rift between the two families to be mended again.
he sighed as he approached the part of the dock that connected with the land when he spotted the familiar face. erik smiled and waved at the harlaw. "lady seora, you are looking lovely this evening." he said in a charming tone. "thank you for answering my letter." erik continued. "i have some tea ready on my ship, if you care to join me." he told her. "i wanted to discuss the kingsmoot..." erik paused. "and your sister." he admitted.
he knew that this might not be appropriate but with them sailing to kings landing in a few days, erik wanted to do this before he left. he smiled at her and hoped seora would at least give him a chance, given everything between the two of them and their families.
truthfully, the letter had been unopened for nearly a full day before she finally broke the seal with her beloved knife, and even then she had considered throwing it into the sea afterward without a response. grief had made everything feel smaller somehow. and now here stood erik asking for tea.
dark eyes settled upon the greyjoy as he approached, expression unreadable beneath strands of black hair stirred loose by the sea wind. she listened in silence as she spoke, gaze flickering toward his ship before returning to his face.
death would be too easy. yerin's voice lingered unpleasantly at the back of her mind. seora still thought her sister was wrong. grief should be taught properly instead. perhaps erik should live long enough to understand what it meant to lose something small and beloved. a son, perhaps? his was old enough for absence to hollow a house clean through.
the thought arrived coldly, casually, and left just as quietly.
still, this hurt worse than the blade she once took from a mercenary in tyrosh. because erik greyjoy was not merely another enemy standing before her. he had been woven through the better half of her life -- a familiar face from childhood visits between islands. theirs had been the sort of friendship that survived distance, adulthood, and even seora's long disappearances across the narrow sea. perhaps that was why seeing him now felt unbearable.
for a long moment, she said nothing at all. then slowly, almost lazily, seora stepped closer. steel caught briefly beneath the docklight as she slid a knife from her belt, the motion practiced enough to seem effortless. not enough to slash -- only enough for the blade's edge to settle lightly beneath his chin.
"tell me, erik," she asked, voice unsarcastically soft, "did you practice this speech beforehand? or were simply arrogant enough to assume i would still tolerate the sight of a greyjoy after what was done to my family?"
the sea crashed somewhere below them. and just as abruptly, seora smiled. the blade disappeared into its sheath with practiced ease as though the moment never happened at all.
"you're fortunate i'm curious enough to hear what you have to say," she mused lightly. "though depending on the conversation, i may still decide to throw you overboard before it ends."
true. she would never expect any different from seora, and if anything, the familiarity was comforting. a smile made an attempt to tug on the corner of her lips, but to no success. the conversation to come would not be easy, nothing with her sisters was ever easy. but yerin's resolve was firm in the way forward, knowing the argument already brewing and needing to navigate that through the haze of grief that threatened to swallow her whole.
running her fingers over the pendant she had made for suho as a babe (he had worn it from his first to his last day) the hurt is heavier when discussing it with someone who knew her son, who loved him. the dichotomy of the loyal woman raised beside the greyjoys with equal fealty to them as reserved for her sisters and the mother who entrusted her child to the very same men, only to lose him by her own folly, did she want greyjoy blood spilled?
In her youth, yes, blood begot blood in the most satisfying way. But now she knew deeper pain and wished to inflict it the same, rob them of then very thing they priced above her suho's life. "no. death would be too easy. I want their names erased. I want their legacy burned to ash. Let them bear witness all their efforts for naught."
the youngest harlaw's expression hardened by slow degrees -- something suspended uneasily between anger and understanding. because yes, she understood the instinct to ruin them utterly. to salt the ground beneath their legacy until nothing remained but decay. but of course, understanding did not mean agreement.
a sharp exhale escaped through her nose before she laughed once, low and utterly humorless. "you speak as though the two cannot coexist." her voice remained calm, through the need for vengeance slowly sharpened itself beneath every syllable like a knife dragged across stone.
"i'll gladly help you carve them out of history piece by miserable piece if that is what you want." dark eyes lifted toward her sister then, storm-heavy and cold. "but my nephew still returned to the drowned god regardless."
there it was. the ugly grief seora had been carrying across the sea like a blade lodged between her ribs. perhaps it was the ironborn in her, perhaps merely the cruelty she had long ago stopped trying to temper, but death demanded answering. and truthfully seora had never been patient enough to believe suffering and death needed to exist separately.
what was wrong with both? what was wrong with letting them watch everything they built collapse into ruin first before ending them?
"you think i cannot make them suffer before i kill them?" she asked lowly. "sister, i can drag every last thing they love into the sea first before giving them a slow, painful, miserable death."
red from the hem of their garment spilled, the sharp points of the cloak upon shoulders as a representation of the dragon's teeth lying herein. the stone seems to tremble when she steps upon it, a reminder, a greeting. gloved hands rest beneath the sleeves, holding fast to one another as a presence of grounding. she surveys the ruckus, the gathering crowds and those who have chosen to attend — and those who haven't. ( remember: you're not the reason they're here. you're nothing but a hollow echo. it's a pity how those things are framed in aegor's voice, hoarse and warbling as it was. ) and yet, delfina won't shy away from his haunting. in fact, the whispers embolden her. she strides forward into the heart of it. “ at last, this seat has decided us worthy enough to visit it. ” despite the waver in her observance, she turns to the other, brow arched. “ for king's landing to be treated as a prison, shut up and off from the rest of the realm, is an insult. but i, for one, am glad to see you here. ” the warmth of the smile doesn't tremble. for all the rumours which she has surrounding her, and of which she is painfully self-aware ( and which makes her resolve threaten to shatter, but no, she will not be weak to them ), perhaps she really is glad to see what awaits.
heat clung strangely to the stone at king's landing. myrcella found herself missing the familiar salt-chill of storm's end where sea winds threaded endlessly through the halls. still, she stood composed amidst the gathering crowd, dark eyes briefly tracing the movement of nobles and banners before settling once more upon the princess.
there was something striking about her presence. not simply the dragon-toothed silhouette, but the steadiness beneath it all. the sort of resolve people carried only after surviving far more than others realized.
at the princess' greeting, myrcella's expression softened. "thank you, princess," she replied, inclining her head with quiet politeness. "i am glad to be here. it feels... strange seeing the red keep after so long."
her gaze drifted briefly toward the crowd. whispers already moved like restless currents through the room, nobles circling one another carefully beneath all the silk.
then something quieter escaped her lips, "and it is easier to endure such gatherings in kind company."
status: closed to @retrouviel (for seora)
setting: journey to king's landing
"I was beginning to think you had no intention of joining us." The initial letter about Suho had been sent moons ago with very little response, and it was far too difficult to pen to paper Yerin's true intentions, for if the wrong eyes were to see... Yet the eldest Harlaw found it reassuring nonetheless that her youngest sister had managed to catch up to the traveling party. It'd been almost half a year since they saw each other last, a lifetime ago it feels.
"You certainly know how to make an entrance, as always."
seora's gaze flicked briefly toward the distant shape of king's landing ahead of them before returning to her oldest sister, unimpressed amusement ghosting across her face. "and deprive you all of a dramatic entrace? please, dear sister -- you know me better than that."
the humor faded almost as quickly as it appeared. it always seemed to now. ever since the news of suho's death reached her somewhere upon the narrow sea, grief had settled inside seora like something sharp and festering. she had been halfway bound for one of the free cities when the letter arrived, salt-stained and maddeningly restrained in its wording. she remembered reading it once in silence before ordering the widow's hymn to turn around without hesitation.
blood had been spilled. family blood. and unsurprisingly, seora had never been particularly skilled at forgiveness.
"your letter told me absolutely nothing useful, if you must know," she said bluntly. "if you want me to spill some greyjoy blood, sister, you need only ask."
location: somewhere on the red keep, during the grand feast
starter for @valarrghulis ; @faatedones ; @liver-y ; @hclvedhearts and four more !
all things considered, myrcella had lasted longer than usual. she had danced when asked, smiled where expected, and endured enough empty conversation to satisfy even the most watchful courtiers. but eventually the press of voices became too much -- too many people wanting pieces of one another, too much noise layered endlessly atop itself. and so, she quietly slipped beyond the feast when she felt people's attention was fixed elsewhere.
the corridors beyond the feast were dimmer, quieter, touched only by scattered torchlight and the distant echo of celebration bleeding through stone walls. myrcella wandered without much destination in mind until she found one of the many sitting alcoves tucked throughout the red keep.
she settled there almost immediately, folding one leg beneath herself as she opened the small weathered book resting in her lap -- worn enough at the edges to suggest it had been tucked beneath sleeves and hidden within layers of skirts more than once before.
for a while, there was only silence. only the turning of pages and the faint muffled sound of music drifting from somewhere deeper within the castle. until approaching footsteps finally broke the quiet.
"before you say anything, my liege," she murmured softly, glancing upward slowly as one finger remaining tucked between the pages to hold her place. "i should warn you that i have no intention of returning to the feast."
location: somewhere near king's landing's harbor, a few days before the grand feast
starter for @fromashe ; @firedreamt ; @ofaeth3r ; @hclvedhearts ; @eclipt1cs and three more !
seora had always hated king's landing. not for the noise -- noise she could tolerate. ports had taught her long ago how to drown in sound without ever truly listening to it. but king's landing carried a particular sort of filth that settled heavy in the air no matter how brightly the nobles dressed it up with banners and music. it reeked of piss and sea brine gone sour.
currently, she was lounging carelessly against a railing near the docks, one boot hooked lazily over the lower beam as she drank from a flask of dark arbor red that tasted barely acceptable by her standards. the silver rings across her fingers caught the lanternlight whenever she tilted the flask toward her mouth.
somewhere nearby, drunken sailors had started singing loudly enough to qualify as a public disturbance. she couldn't help but approve.
her attention drifted lazily through the noise before settling on someone staring at her a little too long. slowly, seora lowered her flask. her brows arched upward as sharp eyes fixed fully onto them now, entirely unbothered by their stare.
"what?" she barked out bluntly, voice carrying easily above the noise around them. "you never seen a woman having a drink before?"
harlaw d , go minsi , thirty , cis woman , she/her ... the hand of the late king welcomes seora harlaw, the lady of ten towers, to the kingsmoot. the realm knows them to be independent and resilient, but the master of whisperers has unearthed information that speaks to their merciless and obsessive tendencies. to dream of them would be to dream of salt-stung winds tangling through dark hair, sneaking about in the middle of the night, and candlelight catching in twinkling eyes. they themselves dream of no one in particular on the throne. time is an unwieldy mistress, and only she may tell who will sit the iron throne when the dust settles.
i. ⎯⎯ basics.
full name: seora harlaw. nickname(s): lots, including saltwitch && sea wraith && the kraken’s daughter -- give her nicknames, she’ll wear them proudly. title(s): lady of ten towers && captain of the widow’s hymn. age: thirty. gender + pronouns: cis woman && she / her. orientation: pansexual, greyromantic. birthplace: the ten towers, harlaw. residence: between ten towers and whichever port currently captures her interest. languages: the common tongue (mother tongue) && bastard valyrian (fluent) && high valyrian (fluent) && bits and pieces of lhazareen and dothraki. religion: the drowned god -- devout in a brutal, deeply ironborn way. affiliation: house harlaw.
ii. ⎯⎯ physical
faceclaim: go minsi. eyes: dark eyes, almost considered black. hair: black hair that reaches her shoulders -- she never bothered to style it. height: 5'8" / 173 cm. scars + marks: lots and lots of blade scars -- the prominent ones and across her left shoulder and stomach && a burn mark across the back of her left hand. distinguishing features: predatory stare && rough hands weathered by travel. clothing style: dark leathers paired with most likely stolen essossi silks -- usually with silver rings hooked along nearly every fingers. scent: seawater && smoke && spiced wine.
father: unnamed harlaw †. mother: unnamed harlaw †. spouse / betrothed: none. siblings: two, including yerin harlaw and ahrin harlaw. friends: tba. rivals / enemies: tba. other allies and associations: her ship and crew.
vi. ⎯⎯ background
seora harlaw had spent most of her life proving herself sharper than the men around her. the iron islands were not kind places for softness, and seora possessed very little of it to begin with. born beneath salt-heavy winds and raised among reavers with bloodied hands, she learned early that mercy was often little more than another word for vulnerability. so she learned to become untouchable instead.
while others remained tethered to harlaw, seora looked outward. she grew restless listening to old men boast about distant shores they had never truly understood. the world beyond the iron islands called to her with the promise of danger, wealth, and freedom no salt-stained tradition could ever provide.
she first sailed at four-and-ten. and what was meant to be a brief voyage became the beginning of everything. the sea suited her immediately: violent, unpredictable, and impossible to truly control. seora took to sailing with alarming ease, learning routes, tides, negotiation, and bloodshed faster than most expected. she was clever enough to survive and charming enough to make people underestimate her until it was already far too late.
by the time she reached her twenties, she had earned command of her own ship -- the widow’s hymn -- and with it, complete freedom. from there onward, seora’s life became something untethered.
she drifted endlessly between ten towers and distant ports across essos and westeros, never remaining in one place long enough for roots to fully settle. one season she might be seen in lys draped in silks and gambling away fortunes beside merchants twice her age. the next she would reappear upon harlaw’s shores salt-stained and bloodied with new scars carved into her hands.
there were whispers about her everywhere she went. merchants ruined after crossing her. nobles blackmailed into silence. lovers discarded just as quickly as they were taken. some stories were exaggerated. others were not. one thing for sure is that seora moved through the world like a beautiful omen -- charming one night, dangerous the next.
vii. ⎯⎯ headcanons and extras tidbits.
✱ unsurprisingly, she did not inherit the widow’s hymn -- she won it during a gambling spiral against a disgraced captain. seora kept the ship’s original name solely because she enjoyed how ominous it sounded.
✱ despite her love for chaos, seora is meticulously organized aboard her ship. everything has a place, and disorder irritates her more than she admits.
✱ there are ports across essos where people genuinely believe she is cursed, haunted, or protected by something beneath the sea. seora encourages those rumors whenever possible.
✱ unlike many ironborn, seora genuinely enjoys essosi luxuries: silks, perfumes, expensive wine, jewelry, and decadent feasts.
viii. ⎯⎯ wanted connections.
✱ dangerous obsession (open) … someone seora keeps returning to despite every logical reason not to since they hold the center of her attention. whether romantic or otherwise, it is known that their relationship is volatile and perhaps outright destructive.
✱ first mate / right hand (open) … the person who survived years sailing beside her. fiercely trusted by seora in a way almost nobody else is, though that trust comes with terrifying expectations and absolute loyalty demanded in return.
✱ chaotic companion (open) … another menace to society. someone who enables seora’s worst impulses and joins her in reckless decisions, dangerous schemes, gambling, drinking, or outright violence.
✱ all-consuming romance (open) ... the one person capable of reaching the parts of seora nobody else ever sees. around them, her edges soften almost against her will: quieter touches, lingering glances, moments of rare vulnerability hidden carefully beneath sharp smiles. theirs is still an intense sort of love -- possessive, passionate, and difficult in all the ways seora tends to be -- but there is genuine tenderness beneath the chaos. the kind of devotion that frightens her because for once, leaving has never felt quite as easy.
✱ person she absolutely cannot stand (open) … mutual hatred with sharp smiles and sharper words. they bring out the absolute worst in one another, which naturally means everyone else finds their interactions entertaining lmao.
✱ open to more including … ex-lovers, people both fascinated and frightened by her, people she met during her travels, someone she manipulates for her own gain, someone she blackmailed or refuses to kill because the game is too enjoyable, gimme anything and everything !
baratheon c , devery jacobs , twenty - seven , demiwoman , she/they ... the hand of the late king welcomes myrcella baratheon, the lady of storm's end, to the kingsmoot. the realm knows them to be refined and adaptable, but the master of whisperers has unearthed information that speaks to their stubborn and secretive tendencies. to dream of them would be to dream of damp skirts trailing through moonlit forests, mutters cutting through feverish sleeps, and antlers hanging above hearthfires. they themselves dream of house baratheon on the throne. time is an unwieldy mistress, and only she may tell who will sit the iron throne when the dust settles.
i. ⎯⎯ basics.
full name: myrcella baratheon. nickname(s): little fawn (by her mother) -- other than that, none. title(s): lady of storm’s end. age: twenty7. gender + pronouns: demiwoman && she / they. orientation: bisexual, biromantic. birthplace: storm’s end, stormlands. residence: storm’s end, stormlands. languages: the common tongue (mother tongue) && knows phrases and songs in the old tongue. religion: raised in both the faith of the seven && the old gods -- more faithful to the latter. affiliation: house baratheon.
ii. ⎯⎯ physical
faceclaim: devery jacobs. eyes: green -- unsettlingly so. hair: black hair that reaches down her lower back -- often worn loose or half-braided though usually windswept no matter how much effort is put in taming it. height: 5'3" / 160 cm. scars + marks: crescent-shaped birthmark on her ribs. distinguishing features: perpetually cold hands && solemn eyes. clothing style: layered, flowy gowns in stormland colors paired with lots of silver jewelries shaped like moons or antlers. scent: rain-soaked earth && cedarwood && old parchment.
iii. ⎯⎯ personality
positive traits: compassionate && thoughtful && refined && adaptable. negative traits: secretive && stubborn && self-isolating && idealistic. mbti: infp. enneagram: type 4w5 (the dreamer). moral alignment: neutral good. heavenly virtue: humility. deadly sin: envy. fears: losing her connection to her mother && being truly misunderstood. pet peeve(s): cruelty disguised as humor && loud arrogance. quirks + mannerisms: picks on the skin around her thumb && traces shapes absentmindedly against surfaces && expressive hands when speaking && drifts into thought mid-conversation. hobbies + interests: reading, especially folklore && wandering into libraries && collecting odd trinkets.
v. ⎯⎯ connections
father: chayton baratheon. mother: amarys baratheon née umber †. stepmother: helvis baratheon née selmy. spouse / betrothed: none -- possibly will be engaged soon. siblings: two, including syrenna baratheon and jocelyn baratheon. friends: tba. rivals / enemies: tba. other allies and associations: house umber.
vi. ⎯⎯ background
myrcella baratheon had always seemed slightly out of step with the rest of the world. not in a way that made people fear her, but there was always something unusual lingering around her, something difficult to explain without sounding foolish.
the dreams began when she was young -- moonlit forests, antlers silhouetted against black skies, whispers she could never fully understand. sometimes she woke with strange certainty settled heavily in her chest, as though some unseen thing had brushed against her mind during the night.
myrcella learned quickly not to speak too openly about such things. people rarely understood what they could not explain, and noble courts were cruel places for girls deemed strange. so she carried it quietly instead -- her dreams, her thoughts, and the strange loneliness of feeling slightly disconnected from everyone around her.
while others fought to be noticed, myrcella learned to observe. she listened more than she spoke. watched people carefully enough to notice things others overlooked. grief hidden beneath smiles. fear tucked behind arrogance. the way loneliness clung even to people surrounded constantly by company.
there was intelligence in her softness. stubbornness too. people mistook her quietness for fragility far too often until they discovered myrcella rarely changed her mind once it was set. beneath the gentleness lived stormland blood all the same.
she loved deeply, though often from a distance. perhaps that was why she spent so much of her life feeling lonely despite never truly being alone. there were parts of herself she did not know how to explain to others without sounding touched by madness.
still, myrcella endured with grace. if her strangeness isolated her, then it also made her kinder. more patient with broken things. more willing to sit beside grief without turning away from it.
vii. ⎯⎯ headcanons and extras tidbits.
✱ unless plotted, no one besides her family knows of her strange dreams. there are rumors among the servants, though nobody speaks about it loudly.
✱ sleepwalks during periods of extreme stress. it was especially prominent during her early teenage years, where servants would occasionally find her wandering the halls of storm’s end, barefoot.
✱ though she dislikes violence, she always carries a small dagger hidden somewhere within her clothing because storm’s end taught her early that softness alone would never keep someone safe.
✱ despite her quiet demeanor, she possesses a dry and unexpectedly sharp sense of humor once comfortable around someone. people often found it a bit jarring.
viii. ⎯⎯ wanted connections.
✱ closest confidant (open) … one of the very few people myrcella trusts completely. someone who knows about her strange dreams and listens rather than dismissing them. they are perhaps the only person she speaks honestly around without carefully measuring every word first.
✱ childhood companion (open) … someone she grew up alongside at storm’s end. they spent years roaming hidden corridors, sneaking into libraries after dark, or hiding from storms together beneath castle windows. deep fondness runs between them idk just gimme those cute childhood memories !!
✱ one-sided rivalry (open) … someone who finds myrcella unsettling or frustrating and interprets her quietness as arrogance. meanwhile, myrcella is mostly confused by the hostility but too stubborn to simply back down from it lmao.
✱ unlikely friendship (open) … a loud and reckless person, just entirely opposite to myrcella who somehow dragged her out of her shell over time. they make her laugh more than she expects to.
✱ unsettling fascination (open) … someone deeply intrigued by myrcella’s odd behavior or rumored abilities. whether their interest is genuine curiosity, obsession, or concern is entirely up for plotting.
✱ open to more including … betrothals, sworn protectors, people who are unnerved by her strange calmness, quiet friendships built in libraries or gardens, gimme anything and everything !
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