king—joffrey started following you 

Brother, what a delight to see you..

via: fuckyesmyrcellabaratheon

The truth was, the princess was braver than her brother, and brighter and more confident as well. Her wits were quicker, her courtesies more polished. Nothing ever daunted her, not even Joffrey. - Ser Arys Oakheart, A Feast for Crows

OOC: Wow. Thank you! I have to admit greyface, you are a very very talented writer! Also it’s very nice to see another person’s perspective on this character, perhaps it will be very useful in the future!

Open to all! 

They’d been on their way for over a month now. Myrcella still couldn’t believe they had to go through all those troubles just to meet up with the Starks. She’d never experienced anything like it; when the King desired to see someone, they came to him not the other way around. Cella rode up the steep path to the top and then stopped to gaze around her. Everything looked so beautiful in the north; she could see miles and miles of the colored grains of woodland flowers and the delicate snow like blossom on the trees. She jumped down from her horse onto the soft lush grass below and with her reins in one hand she bent down and began to pick some of the wild flowers. She picked a small bunch before looking up at the sky and realizing that she had to catch up with the others before her mother would be wondering where she was, so she tucked the flowers underneath the saddle and got back on giving her horse a quick kick to get him going. She then spurred him again and they started to canter gracefully down the hill. When they reached the bottom she turned left and caught up with the wheelhouse and the rest of the muck. She slowed her horse to a trot and then a walk enjoying the scenery around pass by in the cool of the afternoon.

However she was quickly disturbed by her mother who slid open the red velvet wheelhouse curtains. When she gazed aside she noticed Cersei looking up at her with sternly eyes and said quietly, “Myrcella, get in the wheelhouse. You’ve had your fun, riding around on horseback like some sort of savage all day. We’re almost there” and with those words she made a simple hand gesture which made nearly the whole muck stop. Myrcella reluctantly obeyed her mother, stepped off her horse and entered the muggy heat of the wheelhouse. Her mother always had a good timing, for they indeed soon arrived at Winterfell.

Myrcella shivered as she felt the rough caress of the salty wind against her face as she climbed out of the wheelhouse. Her hair writhed and twisted with each rush of air, coiling out into the pale grey sky. With eyes blank and lightless she stared at the maze of people which was standing before her. She stood, smiling brightly, a laugh dancing in her throat. The sun toyed at the horizon, lingering for a time, though soon it would yield to the night. Myrcella admired the castle, listening absentmindedly to the conversation between her father, the king, and his old friend Ned Stark. Winterfell didn’t look like King’s Landing, not at all, not in any way, however for some reason she quickly grew fond of it.

She then watched how the king turned its head to look up into Ned Stark’s face and examined him gravely. “You’ve got fat,” her father commented. Myrcella held back her breath for a couple of seconds, so did the other spectators. She’d never heard her father talking to a Lord like that before. This sure was a visit of firsts. Then Eddard Stark suddenly twitched his head as if he meant to say “so did you” and the King laughed. “Nine years!” he said. “Why haven’t I seen you, where have you been?” King and friend looked at one another. Ned Stark answered, “Guarding the North for you, Your Grace, Winterfell is yours.” And with those words her father raised his hand to her Lord Eddard’s shoulder, squeezed it in comfort, and Lord Eddard placed his own, smaller hand on the King’s wrist.