14: Garden of Bones

                                    

                                          
Myrcella held my hand as Tyrion offered her lemon cakes. The tears had just recently dried off her face as she properly shook her head, "No thank you, uncle Tyrion."
"Cella, I know you're scared," I told her, "But you're the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. No one will harm you."
Myrcella wiped her nose with her handkerchief, "B-but mother said the Martells hate us! That we're their enemies-"
"Sunflower," I gently placed my hands on her forearms. "Dorne is not an ignorant land that labels everyone according to the atrocities of their grandfathers. If anything Dorne is the safest place to go! It's said they view foreigners, bastards, and women the same as any man. They will take you in with love."
She looked up at Bronn and Deyna. That girl couldn't hold up a sword if it meant it would save her from death. Less so a wooden sword.
"Do y'want me to stab you through your guts, my lady?" He mocked, "Come on. Raise that sword."
Deyna looked at me for guidance and I lifted my chin at her. Do as he says. This time she was able to block a swing, though his fake sword hit her side on the second swing. 
"I wish I could be strong like you, Selene," Myrcella smiled sorrowfully. 
Tyrion and I exchanged looks before I said, "Strength has nothing to do with wielding a sword. Mother is strong, and she's never picked up a battle axe in her life!"
"Your sister is right, Cella," Tyrion supported, "You have Lannister blood! That is powerful. Use it."
Bronn plopped on the seat next to me. My exhausted handmaidens thought they had the obligation of taking care of us. Pheo, Deyna and Cleeda approached us. Pheo asked "Would you like some wine, my lady?"
"Sit down," I commanded with a smile on my face, "Call yourself my handmaidens if you wish, but it won't change who you really are: my friends."
And so they all sat down, Cleeda finding a seat near mine to feel safe. She was distracted as she stared at her brother in the distance grooming a steed.
"You all fight better than I do!" Myrcella congratulated humorously. She turned to Cleeda, "I don't believe I know you?"
"Hania," Cleeda blurted out. I raised my eyebrow at her. Address by title! Or else someone will notice you're lowborn, I'd told her. She quickly corrected herself, "My name is Hania Flowers. It's an honor to be in your presence, Princess Myrcella."
A little too much, I thought. But it sufficed.
Soon after Pheo's brother and my uncle's squire Podrick Payne made his way clumsily to Tyrion. "My Lord, King Joffrey is humiliating Lady Sansa on account of Robb Stark's victory in battle-"
I had already stood up and grabbed my sword when I interrupted him, too close to his face for him to be comfortable. "Throneroom?" 
"Yes, my Princess."
Tyrion and Bronn followed after me as I left my handmaidens with Myrcella. My uncle was understandably shocked at my anger.
"What are you planning to do!" He called after me. Every one of my stomps resulted in two of his own. I was clearly infuriated. "Let me speak, Selene," he begged as I stormed up the stairs out of the gardens, "I'm better at it. It's what I do-"