We talked for a while about various trifles. I told a couple of amusing stories, and she happily shared how much she enjoyed being near Margaery and helping with her nephews.
"This is actually what I wanted to talk to you about," I said, shifting my posture and leaning against the armrest of the sofa. "About you and Prince Trystane."
"What's wrong with him?" she asked, suddenly wary.
"You miss him, of course. And perhaps you even love him. Is that right?"
"I miss him very much. As for love… I suppose what I feel is something close to it."
We had spoken about such things before, and while at first she had clearly been embarrassed to discuss such personal matters, over time I had managed to prove that I could be trusted and that nothing she said would go any further.
"I don't want to upset you, Myrcella, but your song may come to nothing," I sighed.
"Why, Joff?" she moved closer and sat beside me on the sofa, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
"You can see what's happening now, can't you? Dorne is a dependent vassal land, yet they ignore their obligations. We've called on them time and again to aid us in the war, and they either remain silent or come up with absurd excuses for why they cannot march."
"And what does that mean?"
"It means they're planning something. And troubling news is coming from the east," I chose not to share certain details—it was better she didn't know yet. "I'm afraid that continuing to bet on the Martells and Prince Trystane is a waste of time."
"He's so handsome and clever, Joff. The way he treats me…"
"Unfortunately, he's not the only one in Dorne. There's Oberyn, the Red Viper, and his vicious daughters. They haven't forgotten the murder of Princess Elia, and they blame everything on the Lannisters. I fear they haven't abandoned the idea of revenge, and they will take it out on you, if you ever return to Dorne. And Prince Quentyn, as I understand it, wouldn't refuse to aid his cousins."
"So what do you suggest?" Myrcella said after a pause. She held herself with surprising composure. I could see the storm of emotions within her, but she took several deep breaths and managed to keep them contained. If she were to cry, it would be after I left.
"There's been a great deal of activity around you lately. The Tyrells, the Tarlys, the Hightowers, and a few lesser houses have already hinted to me—and to Grandfather Kevan—about a possible alliance."
"And what about you?"
"I wanted to speak with you first. To prepare you, so to speak, and to try to think everything through calmly and without unnecessary emotion. You do understand that sooner or later you will have to marry, and that Trystane is hardly the only option?"
"And who have you and Grandfather chosen for me?"
"No one yet. Honestly, no one," I said, taking her slender hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. "But most likely, the choice will come down to three young men—Willas Tyrell, Dickon Tarly, and Dorian Hightower."
"Tell me about them," she asked after a brief silence.
"I've only met Dickon in person. He's tall, handsome young man. The Tarlys are very martial and steadfast, and if we settle on them, you'll have a true warrior for a husband, and he'll raise your children as stern, taciturn knights. The Tarlys aren't as wealthy as the Hightowers or the Tyrells, but Horn Hill will be able to provide for all your needs."
"And Willas Tyrell? He's crippled, isn't he?"
"Yes, his leg is injured, and he walks with a cane. But Willas is intelligent, handsome, well-read, and courteous. I imagine he would write you poems and sing you songs. The Tyrells are very wealthy, and if you wished, you could turn your court into a true legend—invite bards and minstrels, musicians and sculptors, painters and astronomers. Willas would gladly give you all of this, since he's interested in it all too. And of course, your children would inherit Highgarden."
"And the Hightowers?"
"They're… unusual people, in an unusual place. They're known for their learning and their devotion to knowledge—the Citadel stands there, after all. They also love to travel, and it's the same sea as at Casterly Rock. These are western lands, so it would be easier for you to grow accustomed to their customs. The climate is similar too, though more southern. Dorian himself is the heir to House Hightower and strikes a balance between a warrior's spirit and a scholar's mind—an interest in arms and in books alike, with proper manners to match. I don't know him personally, but I've been told he is tall, cheerful, and kind to his friends."
"It's all so complicated, Joff!" A flicker of confusion passed through her beautiful eyes. "Is it really so hard to simply be happy, like you and Margaery?"
"Come here," I pulled her into an embrace and continued, "happiness is a relative thing, little sister. In truth, it isn't found outside us, but within. Nothing prevents you from being happy right here and now. And as for what Margaery and I have—it wasn't simple at first. We didn't know each other, and it was entirely a political marriage, approved by our grandfather and beneficial to our houses. So you, too, if you wish, can find happiness with any of those I've named—and build a relationship that brings you joy. Just think about it."
"I'll think about it. How much time do I have?"
"We'll be leaving for the Vale soon. Most likely, if everything goes well there and we win, then upon our return we'll need to make a decision. So be ready."
"I will," she answered firmly.
(End of Chapter)
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