[ If they'd shared, currently, a room with their children, whether it be for the breaking of their fast or some rare moment of purposeless joy, he would have gladly called upon them to ask if they cared a whit for possessing a realm. Joffrey, no doubt, would snarl a yes, would demand what was his just as rabidly as his mother would, but Joffrey did not count in these measures of normalcy. What fondness did Tommen have for the realm, a concept too vast to have any meaning for him? So long as he had his pony and his fawn and his blunted lance and his strawman, he would miss nothing of royalty. And Myrcella, how desperately would she cling to this life of ritual and cool detachment? No, she would be happier in a garden, surely, a sprawling, wild garden of her own, and a world to ride into or sail across, with companions who were won by heart, not by gold.
He is already scowling when she rises, ready to brandish this defense against her even as he knows she will refuse it, and he draws in a stiff breath. Her body is already in defense - confronting him, sinking her nails into his arms - and in offense, too, deliberately arranged to catch his eye. He does drop a glance down its favored path below her collarbone, but this reward does not silence him. ]
They don't want the realm. Have you asked them lately what they want?
[ She's been promptly denying Tommen what is too dangerous or too inglorious, he does not doubt, and she has surely been reminding Myrcella of her place, instructing her in what is worthy and what is not. And none of it by right - only by the right of his sword, a strength she now will not trust in completely. He falls back a step when she pushes away, his gaze gone to flint as he watches her. ]
So have you. [ At least in this instance, he is not alone in the shame of having been bested. By man or magic, it doesn't matter - they are trapped here together, her failure gleaming right alongside his own, if she is in a mood to name it failure. ]
no subject
He is already scowling when she rises, ready to brandish this defense against her even as he knows she will refuse it, and he draws in a stiff breath. Her body is already in defense - confronting him, sinking her nails into his arms - and in offense, too, deliberately arranged to catch his eye. He does drop a glance down its favored path below her collarbone, but this reward does not silence him. ]
They don't want the realm. Have you asked them lately what they want?
[ She's been promptly denying Tommen what is too dangerous or too inglorious, he does not doubt, and she has surely been reminding Myrcella of her place, instructing her in what is worthy and what is not. And none of it by right - only by the right of his sword, a strength she now will not trust in completely. He falls back a step when she pushes away, his gaze gone to flint as he watches her. ]
So have you. [ At least in this instance, he is not alone in the shame of having been bested. By man or magic, it doesn't matter - they are trapped here together, her failure gleaming right alongside his own, if she is in a mood to name it failure. ]