family dinner

[uncledad]

WHO: Jaime Lannister + Myrcella Baratheon
WHERE: out and about in De Chima
WHEN: mid June
WHAT: just a nice straightforward family dinner with your resident Lannisters.
WARNINGS: GoT general warning otherwise probably nah



"You know, the ambassador of this city recently left this country for her home. It doesn't seem to have suffered very much without her watchful eye. Perhaps the position was as lacking in importance as I suspected it to be."

A pleasant enough topic for a stroll to dinner. The art of conversation was not one that Jaime has ever much excelled at. Myrcella is too well-bred to say anything, if she is even thinking anything of the sort. She does not seem as uncertain as he, but perhaps that is also her breeding, or whatever time they have spent together when he rode to her in Dorne. Who can say? All Jaime knows is that he feels by turns both a fool and not, uncle and father and knight of the Kingsguard and whatever else he is pretending to be.

Don't belch in the girl's face and you'll be doing better at this than Robert Baratheon ever did. It's a thought he has had a handful of times. Barely comforting.

Jaime had not lingered long enough in De Chima to become intimately familiar with its streets, but he knew the way to the cluster of buildings given over to housing the city's imPorts. He had found Myrcella easily enough, waited with courtesy for her to step out of its door to meet him. And she had, promptly, golden and smiling and--he thinks it now again, as he looks over at her--so very much like Cersei, and yet, so very little, too. Cersei never wore her hair in that fashion, nor had she ever smiled the way that Myrcella smiles now, not even when she was a maiden.

Dressed in the style of this country, Jaime blends in very well: collared shirt, well-cut trousers, a jacket in which he might tuck his missing hand out of sight. His missing hand is a regrettable point of interest for the curious, and the shame of those gazes needles at him, but he otherwise cuts a fine figure.

As they come around the corner of this city block, he glances from Myrcella to the building there. "Is this the place?"

It must be. The smell coming from within is incredible, Myrcella had said, and it is. Even Jaime, not often given to the rich temptations of fine food and drink, would have to agree.

Comments

[golder]

"Perhaps. Though, there is a chance that she left so good an impression with the natives that peace remains though she is gone." She considers that, humming beneath her breath. "The position is ripe for the taking, is it?"

Even he should recognize the distinct note of interest in her tone. She has displayed little of that in aught other than him and training her cub until today. Not even the sigh of the ocean and taste of new food had piqued her curiosity. The idea that finally, she might have a chance to grasp some power and independence for herself strikes her on a profound level. And it could balance things here, and make the city safer for him to dwell in with her here. Looking up at him now adoringly as she is, there is not one single things she might want more than that.

There is no way he might ever know why she's been so tender a heart with him since her arrival. It is better that way, than for him to learn the truth and know that pain again.

She remembers him as a fine father, no matter how briefly it had lasted. Which is why she reaches impulsively for his arm, as surely nieces and uncles in this world might walk like this without seeming suspicious or untoward. Her grasp is gentle but sure, fingers squeezing lightly at his wrist affectionately. In his company, she smiles as though nothing had ever changed. Like she hadn't been betrayed or died in his arms. It's so liberating to let all her cares fall away with him. That is a testament to how safe he makes her feel.

Myrcella has not been shopping yet, and so wears the same pink Dornish gown she'd worn when she'd arrived. It's been laundered with care, so she sees no harm in it whatsoever. Next to him, she might look strange and out of place; but he, to her mind, looks dashing. Like the hero he is.

The aroma wafting down the street alone is more than enough to tell her their destination is near. Raising her nose to the air, she inhales deeply and nods, her glance almost shy.

"Yes." It's an Italian restaurant, and she hasn't ever tried such food before. Nor he, from the look of him. Nodding to the door, she gives him a lopsided smile.

"After me." And she doesn't wait, stepping forward to hold open the door for him.

[uncledad]

He does recognize her tone. As little as he knew her before their arrival to this country--a niece, one whose company he did not seek out--Jaime still does not know Myrcella very well. But their conversations in this place have given him some small insight into her tone, at least. The cant of her head, the light in her green eyes--these do a great deal to inform him of her interest.

And it is an interest that does not bode well, in Jaime's mind. She can't mean to run for this position. Even if that gleam in her eye makes him think a little of Cersei, Myrcella surely lacks her mother's keener interest in power. She is too gentle. When she takes his arm, Jaime is only more sure of that fact.

"I suppose it is," he says, in answer to her question, and leaves it at that. The less they speak of it, the better. Perhaps her mind will yet be turned from the thought.

It is easy to convince himself of that possibility, when Myrecella peels away to hold open the door for him. Despite himself, Jaime smiles in her wake.

"You have already been in this country too long, my lady." Purposeful courtesy. "Or do princesses hold the door for knights, in Dorne? They have many strange customs, this one would hardly be a surprise."

He steps through anyways. The lobby beyond is decorated with false ivy and columns painted to look like marble. Too faux Tuscan to be Westerosi, but the effect is at least a touch similar.

[golder]

To her, the position represents a way to help them both in this new world. To balance the power here, since House Stark and the Dragon Queen hold much in this city already. And for her to at once have some modicum of independence as well as a way to genuinely do good. Though she loves her mother fiercely in her own way, she is also keenly aware of the fact that her mother has not done well by the smallfolk nor the nobility. Myrcella has seen the measure of her, and it not entirely a pleasant sight. And she had perished as a result of choices she and her grandfather had made.

Merely thinking of it now causes her to shiver, drawing imperceptibly closer to him. He presents the only bastion of safety she might truly count upon. Where she trusts no other, she does him because he'd risked his life for hers. And even gone so far as to take the blame for the actions of his man, the sellsword.

Her fingers lightly squeeze his arm, and she nods her head. It's evident that this train of thought makes him uneasy. But merely being here does the same. She hasn't turned her mind from the issue so much as found a glaring reason to pursue it: it is high time that he might be allowed to be happy.

When he smiles at her, it is impossible not to smile back, warmth lighting her green eyes. "Really? I've been observing the natives, and this seems to be common enough here." Still holding the door, she shakes her head. "I never had to lift a finger in Dorne. This is a change. Maybe a good one."

The less she is reminded of the life which had been stolen from her, the better. Still, his joke prompts her to laugh, and she rolls her eyes in mock exasperation.

And then, she follows him within. The decor is what natives might call 'tacky', but to her, it is an attempt to make patrons believe they are somewhere else. Myrcella's gaze is still taking in the scenery when a young waiter with freckles and a thin frame hurries over to offer to take them to a table. She inclines her head regally, and reaches for his arm again.

[uncledad]

Jaime's usual manner of jests is one more pointed--and crueler, depending on their target. He finds himself pleased, in some small way, to have made Myrcella laugh. She has a fine laugh, as befits her, and as she slips her arm through his once more, he carries that joke forward, nodding thoughtfully as if to concede to her point.

"There are a great many princesses around, and a severe lack of handmaids and pages and knights to do the door openings. I suppose it is need that drove you all to such independence. Otherwise you'd still be standing before the first door you came to, waiting for chivalry to move some witless passerby."

The serving man steps out to conduct them to their table, sparing a few furtive looks at Myrcella's gown. She is the more obvious imPort of the pair of them, and subject to a few glances from fellow patrons as well. The lack of focus gives Jaime time to take stock of the room and its occupants--a worthy habit, for a knight of the Kingsguard and a soldier who does not want to be surprised.

Of course, there are no outward threats, and Jaime sees Myrcella safely to her chair before he takes his own. The cloth on the table is cut from heavy white linen and though the hour is not yet late, the candles have already been lit. Jaime takes up the menu laid across his plate and gives it a cursory glance.

"One thing I've noticed in this country is the wealth of food." He flips the menu over, surveying that side as well. Another list of dishes, a small flap that folds out with specials. "They can't have ever known famine, with what is available. It's like attending a twelve-course feast at every meal."

[golder]

She has noted that his sense of humour is gentler when directed at her, and it's touched her deeply. His quip makes her laugh again, warmth vibrant and sparkling in her eyes. Grief might have its claws deep in her outside of the sphere of his company, but within it, she is as she always was. For his sake, and because he simply draws that reaction from her. he has no right idea of just how much he means to her. And for now, she keeps that to herself while she allows him to come to know her.

"Precisely! And then our food would be served cold, and I would be not at all pleased." Her green eyes glint further. "Nor you, I imagine. Thank you for indulging your niece and allowing her to play the gallant for once."

The stares are becoming rote to her by now. She follows gracefully behind Jaime, and meets his eyes with a small smile as he helps her be seated. She's noticed that by and large, this room is filled with what appear to be couples. Candles aren't commonly used in this world, she's found. Merely to set a mood. For her, it harkens back to something, somewhere more familiar as does his presence. And for now, she is all the easier for it. Looking over the menu, her eyes widen.

"Truly, you're right. This nation must have full coffers to be able to serve such fare." He seems pleased, which brightens her while she glances over the listing of dishes. "Indeed not. Is there something in particular you'd like to try?"

[uncledad]

He flips the menu back again, scanning the options presented there. Dish after dish after dish, separated into sections. Fish, beef, poultry, salads, soups--pasta, of every sort, and sauces.

"'Breadsticks'," he reads aloud. "What do you suppose the appeal is in making bread into sticks? I suppose we begin with those, and with wine. Have you had pizza yet? I've grown quite fond of it. The price that they ask for here is higher than others I have had, but perhaps that means the taste will be better, too."

He sets down the menu so he can summon the serving man back to fill their glasses. As the man weaves his way through the restaurant, Jaime nods toward Myrcella's menu. "What of you? Has anything caught your eye?"

[golder]

It's dizzying, and not in an unpleasant manner at all. Myrcella is both impressed and awed by the richness of this country that they can offer so many courses. Why then are there rumblings of a food shortage? She'll need to look into that.

"They would be rather plain, wouldn't they?" She wonders aloud, just before she catches sight of the fine print. "Ah—they come with a 'side' of marinara sauce. Whatever the is. I have not tried pizza, though. If you recommend it, we should have it." Maybe the higher price means the quality of the food will be markedly better than other offerings throughout the city.

After setting down her menu, she gives him a little smile. "I would try this pizza, though I saw one dish that is baked with chicken and cheese." Both sound very good, and for the first time since arriving here, her appetite just might reflect her age once again. Somehow, she'd just finished another growth spurt not long before he'd attempted to rescue her from Dorne.

"So, truly: how have you found this place? Good, terrible? I would know you are content if not happy."