Chapter Text
There was an air of melancholy in the Feast Hall. It was only to be expected at a feast of farewell, Eglantine supposed, but the mood on the dais was gloomier than she’d ever felt in Sunspear.
Princess Arianne wasn’t speaking to anyone. She was courteous and smiling, but her eyes looked tired. She been working so hard lately, and Eglantine would like to imagine that’s all it was, but somehow she didn’t think so. Her plate was untouched, but her goblet was empty. Prince Oberyn was a good deal worse. He kept glancing at his niece with disapproval and didn’t even bother with a smile. Lady Ellaria had given up on speaking to either of them, and the other lords at the high table were entirely governed by the tone they set.
Only the children didn’t seem to notice the heavy atmosphere. Myrcella and Prince Trystane were sitting together and Rosamund and Obella giggled beside them. A singer was singing a long, sad song about a dying knight when Obella whispered something in Myrcella’s ear that caused her to laugh out loud. Eglantine shushed them but it made no difference; they whispered and laughed when they were supposed to be silent. And everyone else was silent when they were supposed to be laughing.
Below the dais, the knights and minor lordlings didn’t seem to notice either. They made a fearsome din and the food and wine were plentiful. The centrepiece of the feast was half a dozen wild desert gazelle, served so rare they were swimming in their own blood. Prince Trystane ate it with eager relish and Myrcella seemed determined to like it too, just as she was determined to like the stew made of flaky white fish and dragon pepper that Princess Arianne managed a few bites of, though it was so hot it made sweat drip down Eglantine’s forehead.
The sweet was honey cakes covered in candied orange peel and for ten minutes after it was cleared away, the only noise on the dais was girlish laughter.
“Arianne, when is the dancing going to start?” Prince Trystane asked.
“Now, if you’d like,” she said. And when Princess Arianne decreed that the dancing should begin, it did.
Prince Oberyn and Ellaria Sand lead the way and the high table slowly emptied as everyone else followed their example. Princess Arianne refused a dozen offers to dance with a smile and a short excuse before Lady Tyene touched her on the arm.
“Haven’t you had enough to drink?” she asked her.
“No,” the princess said simply.
Ser Deziel Dalt came to ask for a dance, but before he had even opened his mouth Lady Tyene cut across him, “You’re wasting your time, ser,” she said. “If you want to dance it must be with me.”
That seemed to please him well enough, so she took his hand and they went off together while the princess watched them impassively.
After a dance or three a tall, dignified woman wearing black and pink came to sit in Lady Tyene’s place beside the princess. Lady Blackmont, Eglantine named her. She looked at Princess Arianne in concern. “Are you quite alright?” she asked her. “You don’t seem yourself.”
Princess Arianne drained her goblet. When she looked up at Lady Blackmont she was smiling almost believably. “I’m only tired,” she said, “I didn’t mean to ruin everyone’s evening.”
“Of course you haven’t,” the older woman said, “it’s been splendid, as ever.”
“Yes, everything is splendid,” she spat. “Splendid food, splendid music, splendid princess.”
Lady Blackmont didn’t look like she knew what to say. “Indeed,” she said finally, “and far more pleasant than anything we’re like to find in King’s Landing. I remember everyone being far more grave there.”
Eglantine had to agree. Myrcella had never laughed at a feast in King’s Landing.
“I hadn’t realized you’d ever been there before, my lady.”
“Only once,” Lady Blackmont said, “when Princess Elia was wed. The marriage feast was almost as uncomfortable as the marriage.”
“Is that really true,” Princess Arianne asked earnestly, “or do people only say that now that they know how it all turned out?”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “We were all hopeful at least. But that hope came to nothing, so I suppose it poisoned everything that came before it. Are you sure you’re well, my princess?”
“Yes,” she insisted, “why wouldn’t I be?” When she stood up she was surprisingly steady, “Maybe I will dance.” The crowd of people on the floor parted for her as she passed but she made no move to actually join the dancers. She sat down on the bench in front of the window, where her cousin joined her moments later. In another moment she was surrounded by people.
Lady Blackmont left as well and Eglantine found herself alone on the dais. She searched the room and found Myrcella in the middle of a large clump of children, smiling shyly and sticking close to Prince Trystane. Ser Arys Oakheart was standing at a pillar nearby, as reassuring as the Mother’s mercy.
Myrcella met the septa’s eyes with a panicked look on her face and Eglantine felt compelled to go to her. They met at the bottom of the stairs to the dais.
“Come and sit down, my love,” she told her.
They sat on a pair of chairs at the end of the high table while Myrcella drank a goblet of well watered wine.
“I’m sorry, septa,” she said. “Everyone was trying to talk to me all at once.”
“You’ll have to get used to that,” Eglantine told her as kindly as she could. “Being a great lady means that there will always be people who want your attention.”
“Yes, septa, I know,” she said. “I’ll go back.”
Eglantine smiled at her. “Take a rest first, child.” They sat together quietly for a while. Myrcella watched pensively as Prince Trystane danced with Rosamund, then with his cousin Elia Sand.
“Septa,” she asked, “do you like Trystane?”
The septa looked at her sharply, “Myrcella...” she began.
“I know you’re supposed to say that you do,” the princess cut in, “but you can tell the truth just this one, I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
The girl looked so expectant that Eglantine couldn’t bring herself to chastise her like she knew she should. “I believe I do like him,” she said. “He’s very gentle and sweet. He will make a good husband, I think.”
Myrcella nodded gravely, “Being married to him won’t be so bad,” she said.
Eglantine sighed with sympathy, “Child, why do you imagine it would be bad at all? Surely you like him.” Myrcella didn’t say anything, she just kept watching the prince dance. “You always seem so happy when the two of you are together.”
“I am happy when I’m with him,” she agreed, “but...” she trailed off.
“Prince Trystane is very fond of you, Myrcella,” the septa told her.
The girl look at her hopefully, “Is he?”
“My love,” said Eglantine, “please tell me what’s troubling you. He’s been showering you with attention all evening.”
“I know,” she said, “but Obella said...”
Eglantine groaned inwardly. Obella Sand was the least objectionable of Prince Oberyn’s daughters. She wasn’t as aggressive as Elia, or as peevish as Dorea, but sometimes she said things that the septa never imagined she’d hear an eleven year old girl say.
“Yes,” she prompted, “what did Obella tell you?”
“She said that he and her sister Elia are always by themselves together, and that they kiss, and things.”
The septa groaned again, but she had no trouble believing it. It explained a great deal, in fact. The cousins were still dancing together, even though a new song had started. They laughed and held hands longer than they needed to. “Sweetling,” she said, “don’t take it so much to heart.”
Myrcella was wearing a scowl that Eglantine had never seen on her face before, “I thought I pleased him and he liked me,” she said angrily.
“You have pleased him,” Eglantine told her. “You’ve been gracious and courteous and you’ve pleased everyone.” She stroked her hair gently, “I’m very proud of how you’ve behaved since you’ve come to Sunspear. And your lady mother would be proud as well.” That was a lie; her lady mother would be scandalized, but it was what the child needed to hear.
“Why would he like her at all?” Myrcella asked, not listening. “She’s only a bastard, and she’s not even nice like Obella or Lady Tyene are.”
“My love,” the septa told her gently, “boys are not like girls.”
“I know,” Myrcella said. “Men have needs.”
Eglantine started at those words, “Did Obella tell you that?” she asked.
“No,” Myrcella said with a shrug. “That’s just something people say, isn’t it? Men have needs and that’s why there are bastards. I guess Trystane will have bastards too.”
Eglantine didn’t know what to say. “Myrcella,” she tried, “once you and Prince Trystane are wed you will never have to give any thought to such things. What a man always wants and needs most is trueborn sons. And only you will be able to give him that.”
“And daughters too,” Myrcella said stoutly.
Eglantine sighed and admitted it was so. But not only daughters, Eglantine thought, may the gods protect her, no man can love his wife for that. There had been no love left in her father. She had been Myrcella’s age, or a little younger, when her father brought a squalling infant from the village to their tower house and screamed at her mother that it proved it wasn’t his fault.
“But what if he loves her and not me?” Myrcella said, “I would kiss him too, if he asked me…”
“No, you wouldn’t,” the septa said before Myrcella could say another word. “If you did you would be no better than Lady Elia, surely you understand that.”
“I suppose so,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind so much if I liked her, but I don't. Why does he?”
Eglantine smiled and shook her head, “Boys might kiss girls like that, but they don’t really like them. And they certainly don’t love them.”
“Prince Oberyn loves her mother,” Myrcella argued.
“When you love someone, you love their honour as much as your own,” Eglantine told her. “If he truly loved her he would have wed her.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I do,” she said. “Myrcella, listen to me very carefully,” she continued. “The greatest courage a woman can show is to always be good and virtuous even when those around her fail in their duty. Women like that are revered in memory as much as the greatest warriors and wisest kings.”
“My mother is like that,” Myrcella said thoughtfully.
“She is,” Eglantine agreed.
“I want to be a great lady like her.”
“I know you do, my love,” said Eglantine. “And I know you will be. On the morrow, we’ll read about Queen Naerys; she is beloved of the Faith.” Myrcella nodded, still looking dejected. “Please, child,” the septa said, “try to put this from your mind until then and enjoy yourself for the evening. Try to be cheerful, like Princess Arianne.”
The princess did indeed look cheerful. Eglantine never could have guessed how subdued she had been just half an hour before. She was still sitting by the window with an endless stream of lords and ladies approaching her, and she seemed to have a smile for all of them.
“Do you think Princess Arianne would mind if I go to sit with her?” Myrcella asked Eglantine.
“No,” she replied, “I’m sure that would make her quite happy.”
Myrcella smiled and ran to the princess excitedly. Eglantine followed at a more dignified pace. When she got there the Dornish princess was still in conversation with a gaggle of knights and ladies, and her own princess’s attention was fixed on an impressive looking older man with silver hair. He was one of the lords who had sat on the dais, but Eglantine couldn’t put a name to him. Six-year-old Loreza Sand was sitting on his lap.
“It’s not fair,” the child was telling him, “you’re all leaving. Mother, and Father, and even you. Why do you all have to go?”
“I won’t be gone for very long,” the man told her, “and you have your sisters to keep you company.”
“My sisters should all go and you should stay!” she said. “Especially Dorea.”
“You don’t mean that,” he said with a chuckle.
“Yes, I do,” Loreza said petulantly. “She’s dreadful. She hit me with her morning star and now I have a big bruise on my back, and she lets her puppy sleep in our bed even though Mother said she wasn’t allowed and he always pisses on my pillow in the morning. She makes him do it on purpose.” Myrcella giggled. “It’s not funny!” the little girl said, “and she always takes all the blankets.”
“Rosamund does that too,” Myrcella said sagely. “But it’s not on purpose, she just rolls over in her sleep. She can’t help it.”
“Dorea can help it.”
“I think you’re being mean,” Myrcella said. “She’s always playing with you.”
“Only when she has to,” the child said. “She always laughs at me,” she told the lord. “I tripped over the hem of my gown when we had our dancing lesson and she laughed at me, right in front of everyone.”
“You were laughing too,” Myrcella pointed out.
Loreza crossed her arms and pouted. “Can’t you at least take her with you, Grandfather?” she said. “And El too. She calls me a baby and pushes me. We went to the kitchen to get some cakes and the cook caught us, and then she told Arianne it was all my idea, but it wasn’t.”
“I’m not sure if King’s Landing is quite prepared for either of them,” he said. “But I can take Obella, if you’d like.”
“No!” Myrcella and Loreza said together.
The lord laughed, “Well, I suppose I’ll have to content myself with your mother and father.” The girl just pouted. Eglantine couldn’t help but smile at her.
There was a flurry of childish noise as the other children came over, talking and laughing. Rosamund sat on the bench next to Myrcella and Obella squeezed in beside her after giving her grandfather a kiss on the cheek.
Harmen Uller, Eglantine finally remembered, the Lord of Hellholt. He was a great lord in Dorne. The septa had never given any thought to who Ellaria Sand’s parents might be.
Prince Trystane stood in front of Myrcella with a huge smile on his face. “Come and dance again, Myrcella,” he said.
A crease appeared between Myrcella’s eyebrows, “I don’t want to dance with you,” she said, far too bluntly. Eglantine frowned at her, and she blushed.
The young prince seemed crushed, “Why not?”
“I’m tired,” she said shortly.
Elia Sand was standing next to her cousin smirking. “Never mind, Trys,” she said. “You can dance with me again.”
He looked uncomfortable, “No, I think I’m tired too.”
“No you’re not,” she said. She leaned into Prince Trystane’s ear and whispered loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t let her spoil our fun.”
Myrcella turned Lannister crimson. Princess Arianne turned away from her conversation and gave Elia a warning look that Eglantine was sure would make most men cower, but the girl was unperturbed.
“You won’t dance with him, but you still expect him to wait around for you, is that it?”
“You’re horrible,” Myrcella said. “Why can’t you just leave us alone?”
“You’re just a stupid little girl,” Elia Sand said. “Why can’t you just go back to where you came from?”
“Elia,” Princess Arianne said in a quiet voice. They all turned to look at her. The entire group around the princess was watching the scene with obvious discomfort. “Go to bed.”
The girl was shocked, “You can’t mean it.” Princess Arianne’s expression made it quite clear that she did. “Why would you take her side?”
“I would do as the princess says if I were you, my love,” Lord Uller said.
Elia looked at her cousin, but Prince Trystane was almost as red as Myrcella and not looking at her. For a moment, Eglantine thought she might weep, but she only scowled even deeper.
“I can see she gets there, my princess,” Lady Wade offered after a few, very long seconds.
“Yes, thank you.”
When they were gone, Prince Trystane looked at Myrcella anxiously, “She shouldn’t have said that,” he told her. Myrcella wouldn’t meet his eye.
“Trys,” Princess Arianne said, “go find someone else to dance with.”
“But I want to dance with Myrcella,” he said, drawing himself up to his full height.
“She said she was tired.”
He gave her a scowl remarkably similar to his cousin’s, but left without another word.
Princess Arianne turned to Myrcella. “Are you going to tell me what that was about?” Myrcella hugged herself with her arms and shook her head. Eglantine supposed she would have to tell her, about Lady Elia and her brother, and everything. But not tonight. “We’ll talk about it later,” the princess said, not unkindly. She sighed and stood up to walk away. The lordling, knights, and ladies trailed after her like ducklings.
Eglantine came to take her place on the bench. Myrcella leaned her head against the septa’s fleshy arm.
“Myrcella,” Loreza said from Lord Uller’s lap, “are you going away too?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Obella said. “She’s only just got here.”
“I’ve heard enough of that word already, child,” Eglantine said.
“I’m sorry, septa,” she said. “But I wish I could go to King’s Landing.”
“No, you don’t.” Myrcella said. “I like it much better here.”
“Septa,” Rosamund said, “can Obella still sleep in our bed with us tonight?”
“I suppose so,” Eglantine said. The girls wouldn’t get much sleep; they would whisper and giggle all night, but she had promised them and tonight was as good a night as any. “But Obella will have to rise early to see her father off.”
“We’re all going to rise early for that, aren’t we?” Myrcella asked.
“Yes, if you wish.”
Rosamund and Obella giggled happily and even Myrcella looked pleased.
“Oh, do we have to sit here?” Obella asked, “I want to dance!”
“We’re resting,” Myrcella said.
“You’re always resting,” Obella said, rolling her eyes. “You wouldn’t get tired so quickly if you took more exercise, that’s what Arianne says.”
“Does she?” Myrcella’s forehead wrinkled. “Well, all right, but I don’t want to be anywhere near Trystane.”
“Myrcella, my love, don’t be petty,” Eglantine started to say, but the girls didn’t hear her over their giggling and rush to get away.
“It looks like Obella’s made herself a couple of new friends,” Lord Uller said to Loreza.
“They’re always going somewhere and they never let me come,” she complained.
Lord Uller shook his head in exasperation, “Yes, everyone is against you, Loreza.”
The next disturbance was ten minutes later when Ellaria Sand glided over and tutted at her daughter. “Loree, what are you doing,” she said. “Get off your grandfather’s lap at once.”
“No, I don’t mind,” Lord Uller said, as the child clung fiercely to the fabric of his tunic.
“I’m sure you don’t,” the girl’s mother said. “But she’s nearly seven, she can’t keep sitting on everyone’s lap all the time. It’s getting ridiculous.”
“Nearly seven is still little,” he said. “She can stay for a little while longer.”
Lady Ellaria ignored him, “Loreza,” she said, “sit down on the bench properly.”
“But Grandfather said...”
“I don’t care what Grandfather said,” she cut her off, “at once.” Loreza pouted, but she obeyed. Her mother sat between her and Lord Uller and smoothed the girl’s skirts for her. “There,” she said, “now you almost look like a lady.”
She looked over at Eglantine and smiled, “Good evening, septa.”
“Good evening, my lady.” She was getting used to calling her that.
They both watched the girls dancing. Myrcella was looking like herself again. She twirled around with Obella while Rosamund looked on and laughed.
“Do you know where Elia is?”
It took a moment for Eglantine to realize that Ellaria Sand was addressing her. “Yes,” she said hesitantly, “Princess Arianne sent her to bed.”
“Did she?” The lady didn’t really sound surprised. “Well, I’m sure she deserved it.”
“Yes, I’m afraid she rather did,” the septa said. The lady looked embarrassed. “All girls are difficult at that age,” Eglantine told her.
“Are they?” Ellaria Sand asked her earnestly.
“Yes,” she said. “Each in her own way.”
“Thank you, septa, that’s...” she smiled, “that’s a great comfort.”
Eglantine smiled back. She was a good woman, and a good mother. It was really all such a shame.
Loreza was starting to absentmindedly cling to her mother’s arm. She tutted at her again. “For goodness sake child, you’re like a bloodsucking leech.”
“You’ll be sorry,” Lord Uller said, “when she’s grown and she thinks she knows better than you about everything.”
“When she does, I hope I have the grace to listen to her.”
“I doubt it,” he said, “but you’ll be praying for a bloodsucking leech then.”
“Father...” she said fondly.
He chuckled and put his arm around her and drew her towards him so her face was resting against his chest. He kissed her on the brow affectionately.
Eglantine watched them and felt her breath starting to become ragged. She needed to get away from them, though she couldn’t say why. She got up and fled, not even bothering to excuse herself. She moved towards where the children were dancing but she didn’t really see them; she stood against a pillar and prayed until she stopped hearing her heart beating in her ears. She wiped the sweat from her palms on her skirts and made herself look about her.
Princess Arianne was standing nearby, listening to yet another lord with yet another smile fixed on her face.
“...but the girl,” the lord was saying.
“Which girl do you mean, my lord?”
He seemed confused, “The Lannister girl.”
“Princess Myrcella?” she asked in a pleasant voice.
“Yes,” the lord said, “Princess Myrcella. Surely Prince Doran doesn’t intend to actually go through with this betrothal.”
All the people around them were beginning to attend to the conversation. Prince Oberyn was watching his niece with the same disapproving look he wore on the dais. His daughter, Tyene, was watching him with an identical expression.
“I don’t think the prince is in the habit of making agreements he intends to break, Lord Gargalen,” the princess said.
Ellaria Sand had appeared with her father. She went to Prince Oberyn’s side and slid her arm through his, but Lord Uller went straight to the princess.
“Breaking the agreement is not the issue,” he told her. "Making the agreements in the first place is." Her smile seemed to make the man oblivious to how angry he was making her. And Eglantine could hardly blame her; it was a matter for the audience chamber, not the Feast Hall. “And what those agreements might commit us to.”
“No one likes the idea of fighting for the Lannisters in this war,” Lord Gargalen added, “no matter who it’s against.”
“The war is all but over,” Princess Arianne said.
“Is it?” Lord Uller asked.
“If the war is all but over, why is my strength still marshalled in the Prince’s Pass?” Lord Gargalen asked.
“It’s a very strange thing to assemble an army and not use it,” said Lord Uller.
“Two armies,” Lord Gargalen corrected. “And I quite agree, it’s very strange.”
Princess Arianne smiled at Lord Uller in a way that made Eglantine feel sorry for the man, “I think this is the first time you and Lord Gargalen have ever agreed about anything.”
“Are we wrong to agree?” When the princess said nothing he glanced at Prince Oberyn, but his face betrayed as little as hers. “I’m of half a mind to start bringing my men home.”
“Are you?” Princess Arianne asked softly. Even the smile was gone, and all that was left was a face that didn’t allow argument. Lord Gargalen flinched at the sight of it. Determined, commanding. And cold, Eglantine thought. Cold to the very soul.
Lord Uller must have seen what the septa did, “No,” he said in a voice that was just above a whisper, “not truly.” The princess’s smile reappeared. “But it doesn’t make it any less strange,” he continued, “armies are meant to be used.”
Her smile was almost warm then, but there was a strange, sad look in her eye. “Yes, so they are,” she said. “But armies can be used in more than one way.”
Lord Uller returned her smile, “So they can, my princess.” He bowed and left her. Lord Gargalen followed after him. Prince Oberyn, however, smiled at Princess Arianne with sick, contemptuous smile.
“Is there something you want to say?” she spat out without looking at him.
“What could I possibly say,” he said. “That was very impressive. You didn’t even have to ply him with wine.”
She looked at him, then seemed to crumple like foil in a mailed fist. For a moment, she was like a child lost in a wood, but in another moment she was carved of stone. “Excuse me,” she said, and she walked away, leaving Eglantine staring wonderingly after her.
Tyene Sand was just as bewildered. “What did you do to her?” she asked her father.
“Nothing. You heard what I said to her,” he told her, completely unrepentant. His daughter didn’t bother to respond, she ran after the princess like she always did. Ellaria Sand shook her head at him. “Chide me if you like,” he told her.
“What could I possibly say?”
The septa turned away from the conversation and scanned the hall for Myrcella. She found her back by the bench in front of the window with only Rosamund and Obella. As she approached, Obella yawned extravagantly.
“It’s time for bed, girls,” she told them.
“Oh, can’t we stay a little longer?” Rosamund asked. “Please, septa.”
“Myrcella is finally starting to have fun,” Obella said.
Myrcella did look happy, and exhausted. “No sweetling,” Eglantine told Obella. “If you three truly mean to be up at dawn you have to go to bed before you fall asleep on your feet.”
The girls reluctantly made their way to the lord’s door behind the dais, arm in arm and leaning on each other. Ser Arys joined them on the stair, just as they encountered Princess Arianne pulling away from a group of young women. They all but walked into each other, and Princess Arianne would have been knocked to the ground if Ser Arys hadn’t caught her by the waist.
The knight was spluttering apologies with colour rising in his cheeks, but Eglantine couldn’t help but notice the easy way his hand stayed on her hip as the princess righted herself. Rosamund and Obella giggled, but a sharp look from the septa silenced them.
“I’ve had far too much to drink,” Princess Arianne confessed to him quietly, “and I can’t seem to get out of here, no matter how hard I try.”
He nodded and helped her up the short flight of steps to the dais and through the door into a corridor brightly lit by dozens of beeswax candles. Eglantine and the girls followed behind them. The princess and the knight spoke to each other in quiet voices, but she seemed annoyed by his doting attention.
“No,” Princess Arianne said in response to something the septa hadn’t heard. “I’ll be alright once I get outside to clear my head.”
“Let me escort you,” he held out his arm to her expectantly.
“I’m more than capable of finding the outside myself,” she snapped.
Ser Arys looked as though she had struck him.
Princess Arianne seemed to regret her outburst. She took his arm and smiled. “Forgive me,” she said, “of course, I should be glad of the company.” That was all it took for the man to become as happy as Eglantine had ever seen him.
Princess Arianne turned her head back towards Myrcella and her companions, “Good night, girls,” she said.
“Good night, Princess Arianne!” Myrcella and Rosamund called as one as the princess and Ser Arys walked out of view. They fell into a storm of giggles.
“That’s enough, children,” Eglantine scolded. “Come along now.”
Ser Arys had left them with only Rolder and Godwyn for protection, but they made their way back to the Tower of the Sun without any incident. The peristyle walk was lit with lanterns and they passed more than a few people who had come outside to escape the noise and heat of the feast.
“I think Ser Arys is in love with Princess Arianne,” Rosamund said suddenly while they were crossing the courtyard. Myrcella started to giggle again. “You think so, too,” Rosamund continued, “I know it! Oh, wouldn’t it be splendid if they were married?”
“Don’t you know anything, Rosamund?” Myrcella asked between her giggles. “Ser Arys is a knight of the Kingsguard, he can’t ever wed.”
“I knew that,” Rosamund said, “I only meant wouldn’t it be splendid if they married. She must be very sad that he can’t. He’s very handsome and gallant.”
It was Obella’s turn to giggle. “No, I’m sure Arianne doesn’t want to marry him,” she said. “She doesn’t want to marry anyone.”
Myrcella and Rosamund looked shocked. “I didn’t know that,” Myrcella said. “It can’t be true.”
“It is,” Obella assured her. “My uncle tried to find her a husband a few years ago, but she refused them all.”
“Your uncle, you mean the prince?” Myrcella asked. “Why would she refuse if that’s what the prince wanted?”
“She just doesn’t want to marry anyone, I suppose.” Obella shrugged, “My father never wanted to get married either.”
“But Princess Arianne couldn’t do that!” Myrcella said angrily. “She couldn’t...” she gestured towards Obella, “not be married.”
“Of course she could, if she wanted.”
“She’s a lady, and ladies don’t do that!”
“Why not?”
Eglantine had let this go on for far too long. “Myrcella, how could you speak about Princess Arianne like that, after how kind she’s been to you?”
“But it’s not true,” Myrcella said, “she does want to marry!”
“It’s not for you to say what the princess wants,” the septa told her. “And you Obella, I’m astonished that you would speak about the princess’s private concerns as though they were common gossip. The fact that you’re her cousin should make you more guarded with your words, not less.”
Both girls seemed devastated. “I’m sorry, septa,” Obella said. “I didn’t mean to be gossiping.”
“I don’t want to hear talk like this ever again.”
“No, septa,” Myrcella said.
They climbed the stairs to Myrcella’s rooms in silence. Serra and Alyssa helped all three of them out of their gowns and jewels and into linen sleeping shifts. They washed their faces and plaited each other’s hair.
Before they climbed into bed, the girls knelt down on the Myrish carpet to say their prayers, with their heads bent over their folded hands.
“What should we pray for?” Myrcella asked.
“For Prince Oberyn,” Eglantine said at once. “Pray that he has a safe journey.” The girls squeezed their eyes shut with the fervour of their prayer. “And for the king and the prince.”
“Should we pray for our mothers too?” asked Obella.
“Of course,” the septa agreed. “You should always pray for your mother.”
“And for Princess Arianne?” asked Myrcella.
“Yes,” she said. She needs all our prayers.
The children climbed under the bedclothes and Eglantine pulled the blankets up to their chins.
“Septa,” Myrcella said, “can you sing that song you used to sing to me and Tommen? The one about Rowan Gold-Tree?”
“You’re getting far too old for lullabies, my love,” Eglantine said. “You’ll be eleven soon.”
“But I want Obella to hear it.”
“I know that song,” Obella said. “My father sings it to us.”
Rosamund giggled, “You mean your mother.”
“No,” said Obella, “that’s my sister Dorea’s favourite song. And he sings us Six Sorrows, and Ten Thousands Ships Aflame, and...” she trailed off when Rosamund and Myrcella’s giggling reached a crescendo. “You mean your father never sang you lullabies?”
“Of course not,” Myrcella said. Rosamund shook her head.
“Did your father sing you lullabies, septa?”
Eglantine couldn’t bring herself to answer right away, she busied herself smoothing the sheets and tucking the ends under the feather mattress.
“No,” she said finally. “I was usually the one who sang the songs to my younger sisters.”
“I didn’t know you had any sisters,” Myrcella said.
“I’m sure I’ve mentioned them.” The shake of Myrcella head made her sadder than she could express. “There were six of us,” she said. “I was the eldest.”
“I think it must be one of your odd Dornish ideas,” Rosamund said.
“I think you Westerosi have much odder ideas.”
“But you’re Westerosi too,” Rosamund objected.
“No I’m not, I’m Dornish, you said so yourself.”
The girls had no more use for her, so she blew out all the candles and left them to their whispers and secrets. She saved one light to guide her way down the darkened corridors and staircases. Even that light she blew out as she gained the courtyard again and slinked like a large, graceless shadow past the glittering lords and ladies along the walk to the palace’s sept with its dome of leaded glass and its walls of painted tile. The light of the candles within made it glow as brilliantly as the lanterns.
Inside there was only Eglantine, and the Seven. She knelt before the altar of the Father and looked at His face. It was high above her and dark, and His eyes weren’t eyes, only shards of black glass set in plaster. She tried to pray, but all she could think of was the look in Harmen Uller’s eyes as he kissed Ellaria Sand on the brow.
By the time she left the sept the peristyle walk was all but empty and half the lanterns were burned out. She felt her way along the corridors in the Tower of the Sun with her hands, trying to avoid knocking into paintings and side tables as she moved along in the dark. Eglantine was about to turn into the staircase that would take her to her own chamber when she heard the unmistakable sound of sobbing. A woman’s sobbing, or a girl’s. She immediately thought of Myrcella and her broken little heart, and followed the sound to a door between two paintings of long dead heroes.
The room inside was some kind of housekeeper’s closet. There was a desk covered in papers, but also a shelf stuffed with linens and stacks of wax candles. And it wasn’t Myrcella who was there crying, it was the other princess.
Princess Arianne was standing in front of a small, narrow window with moonlight streaming through it. Her hair was half undone, she had taken out her hairnet and put it on the ledge of the window along with all her bracelets and her great ruby and white gold collar. She seemed even smaller than she was without them all. No bigger than Myrcella, in truth. Eglantine was about to close the door, to leave her to her tears, but some instinct stopped her.
The princess’s face was in her hands, so she hadn’t seen her. The septa had to cross the room and touch her on the shoulder to get her attention.
She jumped. “What?” Princess Arianne gasped, “how long have you been there?”
“I only… I heard something and I...”
“I think you enjoy sneaking up on people.”
“No.” Eglantine was more hurt by that than she should have been.
“It makes no matter, just leave me be.” She turned bodily away for the septa to stare out the window.
Eglantine knew she should obey, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave her alone in the dark, “You’re crying in a closet,” she said simply. The princess said nothing. “You’ve been wanting to shut yourself in a closet to cry all night.”
“Have I?” she asked. “It’s not your concern.”
“Yes, I know but...”
“You don’t have to pretend now,” she said. “You’ve told me what you really think of me. And who’s to say you’re wrong; the gods know there’s little enough in me for a person like you to admire.”
“That’s not true,” Eglantine told her, “I admire...” she paused to consider how to say it. “I admire how you always know what to say. You make everyone love you, and heed you.”
The princess made a sound that was both a laugh and a sob. “It’s all an act, you know.”
“Of course,” Eglantine said, “it’s always all an act.”
Arianne nodded, “And I have them all fooled,” she said with a smile full of self-loathing. “You and Myrcella, Lord Uller, and Alyse Ladybright, and Daemon, and Arys Oakheart. Even Tyene and my uncle. They all believe it. Everyone but him.”
She clutched her face and started to weep so hard that Eglantine feared for her. When she took her in her arms and placed her head on her shoulders she didn’t push away. Her tears soaked through the fabric of Eglantine’s robes.
“Oh child,” she said, “it will be alright. You’ll see.”
“No,” she said, “it won’t.”
No, perhaps not. Arianne was a woman grown, after all, and not a child in truth. It wasn’t so easy to lie to her.
“I know I was a disappointment to him,” she said in a small, sad voice, “but I always thought he loved me; why would he throw me away?”
Eglantine felt like there was a fist around her own heart. Before she knew it, there tears on her own cheeks. “I don’t know,” she said. What could she say? The Seven had lead her to this room, to give comfort, she was sure of that. But she wasn’t sure if she had the words. “You shouldn’t despair,” she said feebly, “you should have faith.”
“Faith?”
“Yes, only the Crone know what path you’re meant to follow,” she told her. “That path might not be what you think you want, but you should trust that She will light your way.”
The princess pulled away from her embrace. She looked up at her with red, puffy eyes that still managed to be fierce. “No,” she said, “I don’t need the Crone to tell me what my path is.”
“That’s vanity,” Eglantine said, but it wasn’t her who said it. It was Septa Anelle who spoke with her voice. And she didn’t know who had been speaking with Septa Anelle’s voice all those years ago in Ellyn Woodly’s cold novice cell. “It’s the gods who decide who we will be, not us.”
“No,” Arianne repeated determinedly, though tears were streaming down her face again, “I know what I am. I’ve always known. And if I’m not that, I’m nothing. I’d rather be dead.”
“You mustn’t say that,” Eglantine told her, “it’s blasphemous.”
“I don’t care.”
“You should care,” the septa said. “Only a fool would think she knows better than the gods. When They send misfortune you must accept it, because They know its purpose and you don’t.”
“Is that what you tell yourself?” The princess’s voice was full of scorn. “Is that what you tell Myrcella?” She shook her head, “I don’t know how you live the way you do; have you ever had anything for yourself? Or do you always just come into people’s lives and stay there for a few years like a disapproving piece of furniture and then leave when you’re not wanted anymore, to start it all over some place else? Why in seven hells should I want to be like you?”
Eglantine was silent. She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve.
The princess seemed horrified with herself, “Forgive me,” she said. “That was unkind.”
“No,” Eglantine said, “it’s true, I...” She thought of all the great lords’ seats that had been her home, for a year, or two, or ten. Where other women had been mistress and children who she had loved as her own daughters had grown up and left, never to be heard from again. “No, it was unkind,” she said. “Women like you always think that children raise themselves. That all you have to do is spend a quarter hour every day praising her embroidery and that’s what it means to love a child. You think because they adore you for every tiny scrap of care you show them that it’s somehow worth more than the years of soothed tears, and stern lessons, and the thousands of days when all you care about is her.” She wiped her tears away with the meat of her hand. “I may be a piece of furniture to you, but I know that what I do has real purpose. And that gives me peace.”
“Does it?” Arianne asked. “Does it make up for it? For being ignored and unloved?”
“Does what you have make up for it?” Eglantine asked her. “Do all your men and your fine clothes, and the masses of people who all but worship you give you peace, or make you forget that you’re unloved?”
She looked at Eglantine without scorn or anger. “Sometimes,” she said. “For a little while.”
“A very little while, I imagine.”
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps you shouldn’t try to forget. Perhaps you should accept that there are things you can’t change.”
“You’re right,” Princess Arianne said. “There are things I can’t change. I’m a princess of Dorne, nothing and no one can change that. That’s my purpose. There’s never been a moment when I wanted to be anything else.”
And what did I want to be? Eglantine asked herself. She couldn’t think of a single thing.
“And you think that if you get what you want, that will suddenly make you happy?”
“No,” she said at once.
“Then what will.”
“I don’t know,” she said resentfully. “Maybe I never will be.”
“Happiness comes from always doing your duty,” Eglantine said. She’d lost count of how many weeping girls she had said that to.
“Do you really believe that?” Arianne asked her.
No, she thought without hesitation, I don’t think I ever believed it. “Of course; why would you doubt it?”
“Because every time I lost something that made me happy, it was because I did my duty.”
“If that’s true, then why do you bother?”
She considered, “Because it’s who I am. Nothing else has ever mattered to me.”
“And you think that if you’re a perfect princess, or at least, if you make everyone believe that you’re a perfect princess, then that can make up for it.”
“Maybe it will.”
“It won’t,” Eglantine said. “Maybe nothing can.”
Princess Arianne nodded. “It doesn’t matter,” she said, though Eglantine suspected it was only herself she was trying to convince. “It doesn’t matter if he hates me. It doesn’t even matter if I hate myself. All that matters is that I do what I know is my duty. Princesses aren’t meant to be happy. They’re only meant to do their duty.”
Eglantine considered the princess carefully. She wasn’t crying anymore, no more than the septa was, but she didn’t seem very comforted.
“Not only princesses, child,” she told her. “All women.”
Septa Eglantine left her there, standing alone in that little room in the dark, while she found her bed. Dawn was only a few hours away, and she would be needed.