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Chapter Text

Melara plummeted down a never-ending abyss.

Something was amiss.
Her body struck an icy wall.

Melara grew heavier.

Her clothes doused in muddy waters, a shriek was stuck in the torso, not out of stupor, she just could not.

Her mouth opened, the dark liquid sweeping over it, disgusting on her tongue.

Melara called for her dear friend, the sharp pains overwhelming her small body.

She called for anyone, her body heavy and her skirts dragging her underneath the dark.

Tired became both the body and the voice, floating or dead already.

Melara let herself go.

The abyss, not so empty, shone bright red.

A red sphere above her head, was it the Stranger?

Or the moon?

Was it here to take her? Will it wipe the pain away?

The tears spilled out of her, blurring all of her vision, she could only make out the silhouette of a black bird diving into the hole.

Chapter Text

'What if they don't like me?'

The inquiries she had whenever she and her mother stood in town was whether they were Northerners.

From the pale skin to their dark hair, her father would often say that they looked like the maidens drawn in manuscripts on tales of the North.
With the assumption of being from the North, came the association with the Old Gods.

Her thoughts all spiralled down to one thing: if children of nobler birth came to that conclusion, would they look down on her?

Her mother soothed her worries away, hands pressing up and forth her arms.
'Who would not like you? Remember, all you have to do is to play with others.'

At the soft age of seven, Melara Hetherspoon was being brought to Casterly Rock for the first time by her father, Ser Tybolt Hetherspoon.

Her mother, Tamora, had prepared her for months. How to properly address, how to curtsy, how to dance, how to sew, how to play the fiddle…
She, the only daughter of a mere landed knight, would meet the twins of the Warden of the West.

It was a true opportunity for them.

All she had to do was to befriend them. Be as charming as she could be. Melara felt dignified in her favourite attire, a beige dress entirely pleated underneath a diamond shaped ochre piece tied on both sides of her waist and by the neck.

Melara's determination slightly faltered as they caught sight of the large castle sitting upon a cliff. The rocks reminded her of a lion resting. Her manor house, which she adored and cherished, was ridiculous next to the grand construction. Was she proper enough for them? Would she be able to hold a conversation with a Lady?

Mothers were brought to have tea in a room nearby, leaving the children amongst themselves.

As she stepped into the hall where the twins' anniversary was held, with many other children, Melara had to stave off the jealousy. Her birthday was four moons away, but she knew that she would not ever see such an extravagant feast on her behalf.
Quickly, the colourful party appeared to her rather soporific, as it seemed no other children around her seemed to dare to break the ice with one another. And, the pair they all came for were nowhere in sight.

That would not do for Melara. Her mother had sent her on a mission, after all.

She turned to the girl with brown skin and brown hair dressed in green beside her, asking her name. 'Lady Jeyne Farman, you?'
'Dame Melara Hetherspoon,' the girl curtsied as her mother taught her, 'You're from the Fair Isle, I believe?'
The girl's brows shot up, she nodded her head vehemently.
Melara knew from her face that Jeyne was digging her mind to find something to say about House Hetherspoon, she spoke before she could ask. 'I've read so much of the Faircastle, is it as beautiful as it is described?'

This brought a smile upon Jeyne, reminiscing of her home. 'Oh! You've no idea. Mum is always complaining about it looking dull, but its walls are all white, and it's magnificent when the sky's clear and the water's the clearest thing you'd ever see. Sometimes you don’t know where the water ends and where the sky begins.'
'I'm sure the sight would be breathtaking if I were to see it with my own eyes!'
'It doesn't disappoint, I'm telling you.'

Melara looked around her, head turning one side to another quite dramatically before leaning toward Jeyne as if she was about to share a confidence, swiftly locking their arms. 'Have you caught a glimpse of the two shining stars of the day?'
Jeyne shook her head, 'I've arrived a long moment ago, but I don't even know what they look like.'
'My father told me of their golden locks and bright green eyes,' clued Melara.
Jeyne looked around their little crowd. 'The task won't be easy, I never realised that blondes were so common here!'
Jeyne and Melara did indeed stand out among their peers.
Melara started to lead Jeyne to walk around the outskirts of the hall. It was awkward enough to stand by and watch the very few other children who seemed to know each other well enough to start games. 'I've never seen anything like it, Casterly Rock,' started Jeyne.
'Nor have I ever seen so much golden furniture all in one place,' mused Melara.

A woman enthralled the children as she entered the hall with her dark blue dress, and from her very attire to her blonde hair, they all guessed that it was none other than Joanna Lannister. The lady of Casterly Rock stood before them, an easy smile as she walked to the centre. Tables had been arranged to give the children space to play and as for the decoration, hanging from the ceiling, pieces of red silk were wrapped around chains made of tiny gold lions linked together.
'What terrible hosts we make! My twins are not used to seeing so many guests all at once,' her voice was nice, thought Melara. And as quick as she came, the woman was gone, her maids following her closely behind before scattering in different directions in hurried steps.

The two girls continued getting to know each other, until Melara caught sight of two bright shadows passing by a pillar. From the red attires and gold accessories, to their hair and eyes, she knew that they found the Lannister twins. Without losing a second, she marched on, dragging Jeyne along, to their secluded spot.

It looked accidental how the girls ran into them, the blonde girl seemed to be also in an attempt to drag the other boy along with her, as indicated by their intertwined hands.
Melara let go of Jeyne, gracefully she hoped, and curtsied. Jeyne followed suit.
'Am I correct to assume that you're Cersei and Jaime Lannister?'
Cersei smiled smugly, 'Astute. You are?'
'Melara Hetherspoon,' she stood up and as Jeyne presented herself, her eyes met Jaime's.
'Happy eighth name day.'
She had never met twins in her life before, it was disconcerting to see a pair of them, she did not expect for them to look so alike. Although, she supposed he was starting to show a few differences. The most striking were his kind and dreamy eyes, there was no other way for Melara to describe them.

'You're missing all the fun,' said Melara.
'My dear brother does not want to join the party. He's afraid I'd leave him to fend for himself,' responded Cersei.
Jaime protested behind her, 'Don't say that!'
'It is true,' Cersei's eyes fell on Melara's dress,'I admire your dress, who made it?'
Melara looked down, slightly flushed, 'My mother is very skilled with a needle,' she took some time to admire Cersei's dress, 'but it doesn't compare to yours.'
The young girl caught a flash of annoyance across Cersei's face and her anxieties soared but subdued as soon as Cersei's smile reappeared.
'Only the very best seamstresses for the Lannisters.'

Melara nodded and placed an easy smile on her lips, as she watched her mother do so many times when she would interact with nobler ladies.

Jaime Lannister could not seem any less interested in their conversations as Cersei boasted about Casterly Rock, leading the four of them away from the hall. Perhaps, it was the intended effect, as Jaime led them hastily back to the hall, sick of hearing about what the Septas had to say about courtly love and their idiotic theories of how Lann the Clever took over the Rock.
Melara was overjoyed as Cersei and Jeyne stayed by her side most of the afternoon, her house's lack of prestige would not be a hindrance to their friendship. She felt comfortable enough to tell Cersei that they should play tag when she complained of the lack of entertainment.
Jaime looked more than happy to finally have something to do than sit and eat, Melara felt some pride unfurl within her.

By the end of their games, Melara felt heavy as Joanna Lannister walked toward her, a woman who was only a legend a night ago as her mother told her tales of the Lannisters, and Joanna had her eyes set on her, the daughter of a knight and a commoner.
'Cersei, I see you've made friends? Would you introduce us?'
'Yes, mama,' Cersei pulled her new mates by the sleeves, 'this is Jeyne Farman and Melara Hetherspoon. Girls, my mother.'

‘I’m pleased to see you Lady Jeyne, your mother has told me all about you, you certainly inherited her beauty,’ the little girl beamed at Lady Lannister, who finally turned once again to Melara. 'Hetherspoon… I assume that you're Ser Tybolt's daughter?'
The girl nodded her head vigorously, slightly taken aback as Joanna reached for one of her curls.
'Well, I didn't know he hid such a radiant gem away from Casterly Rock, you'll be breaking hearts in no time.'
Melara flushed, she tried to look away, but it meant facing the surprise in both Cersei and Jaime's visages.
'It is an honour to meet you, Lady Lannister, your compliment means plenty to me,' she curtsied and bowed her head properly.

Joanna's lips morphed into a genuine sweet smile as her eyes focused on Melara's face, before she turned to her children, 'These two, you shall keep.'

The following months, Melara was invited to Casterly Rock several times. However, Cersei summoned her at inappropriate times, when Melara was expecting tea like her mother suggested that's what would normally happen, she only found a bored Cersei distracting Jaime from his efforts at reading, or during her very own lessons with her Septa Donna.
'See, Melara, my brother cannot read,' teased Cersei.
Jaime glared at her before looking back down to his text, flushed.
Melara treaded carefully here, 'Well, everyone's got their own pace, patience will get you a long way,' she dared to cast Jaime a glance, but she only found a dark look directed her way.

She looked back at Cersei, who only seemed unimpressed.

'Jeyne should be around here by now, we can play with her since Jaime is being no fun,' without a second glance, Cersei was already out of the library.
Jaime sighed as he frowned down at his book, Melara could only hold sympathy for him. 'Your efforts will pay.'
She was taken aback when the only response he could muster was a grunt.

She followed Cersei in haste.

They fetched Jeyne before Cersei led them to the shore outside the castle.

They had gone through some very-well hidden corridors, and before they saw some light, Melara recognised the sounds of the waves crashing into the rocks.

'Are we allowed here?' asked Jeyne, 'At home, I can't go out there on my own…'
Cersei crossed her arms, 'Of course we can, don't you trust me?'
Jeyne mumbled something none of the two other girls heard nor asked for to repeat herself.

Cersei's new friends slightly relaxed after some time; there was no one to be wary of.

'Must I be the knight again?' complained Melara.
'There can't be three damsels in distress at the same time!' protested Jeyne.
Cersei laughed as Melara picked up a stick, her pretend sword. 'And your father is a knight, you'd know how to use one,' quipped the Lannister girl.
The blonde girl was too far to catch Melara's eye roll.

'I'll let you be the damsel next,' promised Farman.

Melara sighed, letting herself get back into the game, she started to dance with the stick, envisioning a scaled winged lizard before her.

'What are you doing?' asked Cersei, cracking up a smile.

Dame Hetherspoon got out of her knightly character, transferring her weight onto the big stick as she let it dig into the dirt. 'Fighting a dragon, ladies!'
Her friends laughed as they placed themselves behind a rock they decorated with leaves and flowers.

'You look as if you're dancing,' commented Jeyne.
'Isn't that what men do with their swords?' retorted Melara, she had spent hours watching her father train younger boys, they had a routine and steps to follow, the only differences residing in their wits and strength.

'Well! Do save us! Knight Hetherspoon!' acted Cersei.

Melara bent to take another stick with her left arm, and with her two swords, she resumed her dance with the beast.

Chapter Text

In the year of their acquaintance, Melara and Cersei had grown close, closer than Cersei and Jeyne or any others for that matter, to Melara and Tamora's satisfaction.
Lady Farman could spare her one high-born friend.

Not that she did not enjoy their company, Melara found Jeyne to be a sweet girl, the very best of them three.

Cersei could be too much sometimes, when her mean streak wore her down. There were days she was softer, when she spent most of the morning with her mother, but as Lady Lannister grew bigger with child and her energy was spent faster, her patience for her daughter grew thinner. 'I hope it's a boy, or else she won't dote on me as she did in the past,' confessed Cersei to Melara during one of their afternoons.

It was for the best that Cersei favoured her rather than Jeyne, the latter had very often teary eyes when Melara joined them, Jeyne being a resident at Casterly Rock while Melara could go back to her keep. Melara was ashamed of herself when she would recount those days to her mother, but she would try to soothe Melara soon after, 'These things are common, especially in those circles, it's best for her to get used to it now than later, or else she'll get devoured.'
'But I do not have to be mean to fit in, do I?'

Tamora took her daughter by the shoulders before pulling some strands of her hair behind her ear. 'You're the daughter of a knight, if Cersei Lannister is mean, it doesn't matter, she can afford it. You, on the other hand, must be well-liked by the most important ladies, so you can–'
'Get the most advantageous marriage prospect, yes.'
Tamora sighed, 'I know, it is tiring, especially at your age. But you'll understand when you're older that your sacrifices meant something.'

Befriending a girl on a path of reckless arrogance did not seem like a sacrifice to Melara , but rather something she might regret in the future.

She nodded.

Tamora stroked Melara's hair, the young girl being her very spit image, hair of the deepest brown, freckled face and blue eyes. Melara supposed her freckles would fade as she grew, as it did for her mother.
'Put on your dress, Lady Lannister should be arriving by the hour of the ghosts.'

Melara's invite to Cersei had been thoughtless, and now she was dreading it. Jeyne’s presence could have eased her a bit but the girl had been summoned back to her keep for a relative’s wedding.
Their manor house, located near the Centaur's Gate, granted her a lot of liberties and it was where she had her fondest of memories, among them the very few, and hazy ones that she had of her late big brother, Edmon.

The swans inhabiting their pound quacked as the Lannister's carriage arrived.
'Welcome to my humble abode!' exclaimed Melara, curtsied, before opening her arms for the girl to take her in her arms. However, it was not one, but two blonde heads that had stepped out of the wooden structure as the knights accompanying them opened the door.

'Jaime?'

'I dragged him here so he could see some sunlight, my father made him show his academic prowess!' Cersei pushed herself out of the embrace, taking her hands in between hers, 'Safe is to say that he's confined to the library.'
'I know I shouldn't have followed you,' commented Jaime behind them.
Melara chortled, 'Well, you're welcome too, I'm sure you can have fun with the swans while I'm having tea with your sister,' she teased.
Jaime looked at the both of them, unamused, as the girls shared a mischievous look.

Tamora Hetherspoon stood by the grand entrance, Melara felt slightly intimidated as she watched Cersei observe the adult. 'You look so alike, it's as striking as Jaime and me.'
'I hope to become beautiful like her,' whispered Melara. Cersei smiled, squeezing her hand once more. When they arrived before Melara's mother, Cersei and Jaime bowed their heads in respect, while Dame Hetherspoon curtsied.
'I'm glad to finally meet my daughter's favourite companion, I'm Dame Tamora Hetherspoon,' greeted the woman.
'Thank you for having us,' said Cersei in a smooth voice.

While slightly awkward, their tea time went on without Cersei or Jaime being seemingly upset, although Melara could think of several things Jaime was thinking about doing rather than staying with them. She noted that he only smiled when Cersei had begged her to show them her chambers. At the thought of her bedroom, decorated in orange and green with utmost care by her mother and herself, Melara flushed as she thought of the disparity between her lodgings and Cersei's.

She tried to show it to them with pride, nonetheless.

Melara had the best view of their pond and the woods, and if you squinted enough, the sea could also be seen in the horizon.
'That's a lot of books, did you read them all?' inquired Jaime as he looked down at her little collection, reaching for one. Melara rushed to stop him from reading the cover as she recognised the volume of love poems. 'Of course not. But my mother is keen on my education.'
Jaime still tried to have a look at the cover she was hiding, but she slid out of his reach.

Cersei provided a great distraction, her green eyes set on her vanity.
'I didn't expect your mother to be academically inclined,' commented the blonde girl.
Melara frowned, turning around before none of the twins could see it, she set the volume back to its place. 'What could you mean by that?'
Cersei had a taken seat before Melara's vanity, trifling with her things. 'She doesn't come from any houses, does she?'
Melara clarified promptly, 'she was the daughter of a silk trader.'
Her friend hummed in response, her green eyes lifted and met Melara's gaze through the glass. 'So, that's how she's so flamboyant in her style…'

Their host had to bite her own tongue, her mother had not built herself a very classic westerlands wardrobe, after all, Tamora had the opportunity of travelling within the Seven Kingdom with her father in her youth until it was no longer appropriate. Never had it brought negative attention, she was even admired when they went out in Lannisport.
Melara gave her best smile, 'Speaking of flamboyant, she let me have some rouge, do you want to try it?'

Cersei's face lit up and Melara took it as her cue to walk to her bed where a wooden box with her toilette awaited, the Lannister girl followed eagerly.

And so, they spent the rest of their time applying makeup while Jaime sulked in a corner, although from the few times Melara was able to steal glances his way, he seemed preoccupied by her little wooden knights and animals.

'Jaime!' called Cersei, 'Can you come here?'
The boy looked at his sister in distrust, 'Why?'
'Just because.'
He squinted before ignoring her, giving his full attention to Melara's toys.

Cersei took some of the blue and red powders that had been left untouched, and creeped up behind him. Melara assumed Cersei had dipped her index into the powder as Jaime shrieked, trying to keep Cersei at a distance. The girl laughed, attempting once again to smear his eyelids in blue. 'Jaime, let us put some powder on you!'
The boy looked at her horrified as he started to march backwards, but Cersei would have none of it.

Melara watched as the blonde swiftly grabbed his chin, brushed her red finger against his bottom lip before dragging it slowly from one end to the other.

Perhaps, it was the meek grin on Cersei's lips or something about her eyes while she did that small gesture that made Melara shudder.

Before she could read the situation any further, Jaime's eyes settled on her for the briefest moment, once again, he put himself out of reach from his sister. 'I'll be seeking refuge by Dame Hetherspoon, if you excuse me!'

Cersei shrugged, regaining her seat next to Melara, cleaning her fingers on a shared cloth.

'With our father home, he's quite skittish, he wants to do well, but he's just…slower,' confessed Cersei.
'Doesn't matter if it takes years, he'll make a fine lord,' reassured Melara.
'I don't doubt it,' added Cersei as she picked up a pencil, 'When I'll be the lady of a great house, I'll have a golden armour like my father's to go with my dresses.'
Her friend smiled, 'A fine and stylish lady.'
Cersei brought her pencil to Melara's right cheek, 'And you'll be my lady in waiting, of course. We'll find you the most chivalrous man of the seven kingdoms.'

Melara was sure that Cersei was tracing two big red dots on her cheeks, probably making her look like a porcelain doll. 'Chivalrous? How about the most loving?'

'Only the bravest of them all could handle you!'

Melara opened her mouth, feigning outrage, before the two of them broke into laughter.

After some time, bored and faces scrubbed clean, the girls joined Jaime and Melara's mother in the tearoom. But none of them were present.

They searched within the manor house – which was rather small, yet, still grand for a family of three and few servants – until they heard some rattling outside.

Jaime, face cleaned, was facing a man twice his height with a wooden stick.

Melara beamed, 'father!'

Tybolt Hetherspoon smiled upon hearing his daughter but did not break his focus from the lion heir. 'Watch your posture,' he reminded him.
The sticks clashed again, Cersei and Melara joined Tamora on the bench to watch it all.

Jaime tried to strike with all his might, whose attacks were almost effortlessly stopped by Tybolt.

'How come there are so many crows?' commented Cersei, looking at the trees and ignoring entirely the improvised combat lesson, only stealing glances toward her brother.
Tamora and Melara looked up.

Dozens of crows if not more were quietly perched on the branches of the trees. 'How odd, it is a bad omen, seeing so many at once,' quietly said the woman.
Both Cersei and Melara turned to her and the daughter questioned her, 'how would you know?'
'Septas, my own family…' retorted Tamora.
None of the crows moved, 'it's most likely that they have done their nests, or that the gods are watching,' reasoned the woman.
'God, Septa Lynora keeps telling us that we mustn't say gods plural,' corrected Melara, only to be met with silence by both her mother and Cersei.

Tybolt and Jaime shook hands when their little duel ended, the older man walked toward them, arms wide opened as Melara rushed to go into his embrace.
He lifted her immediately to swirl her. 'I've gone one day, and you're already this tall?'
His daughter scowled. 'You were gone for seven nights!'
'A knight never sleeps, you know.'

Tamora reached his side, 'What are you telling her?'
'How much I dedicate myself to the realm,' admitted Tybolt, kissing Tamora tenderly on the lips while Melara was still in his arms.

Tamora wasted a quick look to where the Lannisters' children stood, observing the Hetherspoon's family, and she stepped back.

Melara extirpated herself from her father's grip and walked to her companions. 'Are you thirsty? There should be lemonade in the kitchens.'

Just as they started to make their way to have a glass, Melara's father called her back, she left the twins to go on their own.

'I have a gift for you.' Tybolt reached for his small pouch, and got out a silver pendant holding an amber gem incrusted within a lozenge-shape frame. Melara smiled as soon as her eyes fell on the jewellery, she took it in her own hands, 'It's beautiful, I adore it!'
Her father unclasped the piece and put it on her. 'You forgot to say thank you,' reminded her mother.
'Thank you,' Melara kissed her father's cheek, 'a lot.'

The girl darted back into their house.

'Cersei? Jaime?'
Melara found them in the kitchens, the lemonade jug left untouched. Jaime stood up straight from his chair as he caught sight of Melara, flushed cheeks to the point that they were bright red. Cersei looked up at him with a smile, and Melara got the same chill wash over her body as she did as they were in her chambers.

'Did you not pour yourself a glass?' inquired Melara.

'We were waiting for you,' blurted out Jaime.

Melara's odd feeling subdued, and she could only smile.

Then, her eyes met Cersei's, whose smile was no longer set on her lips. Her necklace caught her attention, 'Your necklace is pretty.'
Melara's hand reached for it, her grin growing larger, 'My father just gifted it to me.'

Cersei smiled, but Melara knew her now, and it did not quite reach her eyes. Was the necklace ugly to her standards? Was it not proper to boast about such things?
Jaime put a stop to the thoughts as he handed her a glass of lemonade, and as she thanked him and took it, her hand brushed his.

She never had the chance to observe his green eyes from this close before, they were rich and warm, with hints of gold and brown in them.

By sunset, the twins had gone back to Casterly Rock and Tamora Hetherspoon prepared her daughter for bed, braiding her hair with small rags. 'Do you get along well with Jaime Lannister?'

Her mother's question caught her off-guard, eyes wide, Melara looked at her mother in the mirror of her vanity before clearing her throat. 'I don't know? We've rarely ever spoken, even less alone, but most times, he's been decent, some times he's barely cordial. Why?'
Melara left out that Jaime spoke to her in grunts sometimes, as if she was a pest.

Tamora nodded slowly, 'He's pretty, do you think he'll become a fine man?'
'I'm sure of it,' answered Melara matter-of-factly.
Her mother gave her a faint smile. 'Did you know that Tywin Lannister chose his wife?'
The girl shook her head.
She continued, 'Joanna Lannister, being his first cousin, brought no riches nor alliances to their house.'
Melara turned to her mother, 'why would he marry his first cousin?'

'He loved her,' explained Tamora.

'The Faith allowed it?'

Tamora sighed, 'They did, as they allowed centuries of Targaryens marrying each other.'

'But they had dragons, and there's none now,' quipped the girl.

Her silence allowed Melara to finally see the connection she was trying to make. 'Jaime could choose his wife too?'

Her mother's smile was the only answer she needed, she finished the last part of her hair, carefully tying it all together. 'You can't sleep with your necklace, it's going to leave marks.' Tamora unclasped the silver jewellery, carefully setting it on the table. 'Sleep well, my sweetheart.'

In the safety of her bed, Melara repeated the words in her head, only daring once to try to voice it. 'Lady Melara Lannister.'

While she fell asleep with a little smile on her lips, she woke up in sweats as the disgusting dream of worms wiggling in dark waters swarmed her mind.

Chapter Text

'Melara!' shrieked Cersei, swimming out of her friend's reach.

While Melara did not know how to swim, she still was willing to go as far as she could as long as she could touch the bottom, and she took pleasure in splashing Cersei and Jeyne.

Jeyne, with no surprise, was a very skilled swimmer and taunted Melara for her incapacity, always leading her further away. 'Let me teach you!'

'No, you'll lead me somewhere far too deep!' protested Melara, 'And then I'll get tired, an-and- I'll drown!'

Cersei laid on her back, letting herself feel the waves as they came, 'if you do, I'll send my brother to get you.'

As if summoned, Jaime jumped from a high rock, plunging as if it were nothing.

The boy swam to them in a matter of seconds, 'Melara, having a bit of trouble?'
She flushed, 'busy staying on my feet.’'
'We wouldn't let you drown,' reassured Jaime, 'at least try to float first, like Cersei is doing.'
Melara observed his sister, Cersei was not doing much, if not at all, it couldn't be difficult for her to imitate. Her robes were already soaked, so she might as well do it.

Slowly but hesitantly, Melara let herself fall on her back and took her feet off the ground.

'Look at the sky, not your body,' advised Jaime.
Melara did as she was told, body tense in the water but floating, feeling the waves and the eyes of the blonde boy. 'What's next?' she asked.

'On your belly,' threw in Jeyne who then showed her how to move her arms and kick her feet.

Several tries later, Melara acquired the basics and could hold on her own for small distances.

'See, that wasn't so hard,' said Jaime as the four of them were swimming back to the shore.
'More fear than not,' replied the girl, giving him a small smile which he returned.

The cloudless sky let the sun shine bright, that allowed the children to dry in no time as they sat on the rocks. 'My mother will have my head if there's a tear on this dress,' let out Melara, attempting to inspect the hem of her skirts.

'I'm sure it's nothing she won't be able to mend,' commented Cersei.

While this might sound like a compliment to her mother's skills, Melara knew best. Because she knew best, she turned to her friend, smiled, and replied, 'of course.'

'Shouldn't we get back? They might worry,' said Jeyne, biting into one of the peaches they brought along.

Jaime agreed, 'We should,' then, he turned to Cersei, 'How about we try to see mother?'
Cersei slowly nodded.

Joanna Lannister was locked in her chambers as of now, looked after by an army of Maesters and midwives, all hoping for an easy and safe delivery.

The twins left them to go back to Casterly Rock, Jeyne and Melara stayed on the rocks to watch the Sunset sea.

On that beautiful day, Melara hesitated to confide to Jeyne about her dreams of bloody linen and flesh and golden locks. Melara absolved herself of the gruesome images her mind made up by praying for Lady Lannister's safety in the Sept in Lannisport. It had just been a nightmare.

It took a fortnight for Joanna Lannister to feel the contractions, and from whispers of servants, twenty-one hours of screaming and heavy breathing that led to absolutely nothing.

Blood, tears and sweat to deliver a far too little babe.

They ripped her belly open to get it out, they said.

Joanna was a fighter, she stayed awake as maesters stitched her belly but this also brought nothing, she only had the time to name the newborn before giving up, unresponsive to her family's pleas.

Never had Melara seen Cersei cry, not even once, yet the girl dissolved into tears the next time they met. As Melara held her in her arms, she heard those words.

'I had wished for a little sibling, but instead, I've got a monster who ripped my mother apart. Do you know what they call him? My father's doom.'

Melara gnawed the inside of her cheek, trying to find the right thing to say. Melara rubbed Cersei's back, like her mother did when she was upset. 'I was too young to remember my brother when he died, but my mother tells me it does get better, I can only hope it is the same for you, all of you.'

Cersei shook her head, 'I'll never forgive it for what it did to her.'

At that moment, the visceral hatred in Cersei's voice gave her shivers. Melara could only lay Cersei's head on her shoulder for her to cry some more.

Her sobs muffled her own guilt.

Chapter Text

Melara was out in town with her mother to celebrate her day, she was two and ten now, and Tamora allowed her to have a dress made by a seamstress of her own choosing, from its design to its silks and embroideries.

'I can't wait to have it, I know it's going to be perfect!'

Tamora Hetherspoon looked at her amused, 'let's hope she finishes it before you grow any more.'

Melara frowned.

'You are at an age where your body–'
The girl covered her ears, 'I don't want to hear it! I’ll figure it out on my own.'

Tamora laughed, taking her daughter by the hand before leading her by an apothecary. Held by an old couple, her mother turned immediately to the other woman and asked her for any herbal remedies for pain. The woman left them alone for a brief moment to retrieve it.

Tamora leaned down, 'Listen to me, little one, I've got you some linen and now I'm getting you herbs, it might not come now, nor in the few years to come but these things don't wait for you to be ready and Gods know that your father doesn't have a single clue about those things.'
Melara winced at the prospect of bleeding every month until her old years.
'If God is good, it'll let me have painless bleeding.'
'Let's hope for that, and short ones too.'

After her mother paid for the herbs, an acquaintance of hers entered the shop as they were making their way out.

Melara stayed on the side just enough time for Tamora to present her and her friend to comment that she grew so much and so well before walking out, telling her mother that she'll be waiting by the fountain, Tamora sighed before telling her friend, 'gods have mercy, she's entering her awkward ages.'

Melara threaded through the crowd of the marketplace, sighing in relief once she reached the square and sat down by the border of the great fountain. The sculpture was beautiful but terribly sinister as her maester explained: the Fall of Tarbeck Hall. A gilded and younger Tywin Lannister, with a rested lion at his feet, stood over the rubbles in full glory as he looked down on her, or rather the square.
Melara stopped studying the sculpted group, turned her back to it completely and reached for her new goods, she had found the prettiest pink silk, and she could already envision what she would embroider.

Naturally, as she waited, Melara found it amusing to eavesdrop passers-by even if it meant that she'd only get snatches of conversations. It also meant that she could make up their life stories like when two scowling old women walked faster than Melara thought it was possible for them, prattled on, probably to check if their grand-children had done their chores at home.

Not soon after, the word 'witch' reached her ears and Melara sought the source without delay.

Not so far seated from her by the same fountain, maids whispered, unaware that even with the waters falling, the girl could hear as clear as day.
'Maggy came back a fortnight ago, changed her spot outside the woods by the North Gate, she could help you.'
'My predicament is urgent, I can't afford that woodswitch nor do I have the time!'

One of the maids sighed, 'I'll cover for you, you know you need to see her, how else would you know what your future is made of?'

Melara was intrigued and eager to hear more, however, her mother came back, beckoning her to come along.

Days later, when Melara found herself in the courtyard of Casterly Rock overlooking the Sunset sea, she whispered about the conversation she stumbled upon to Cersei and Jeyne. As a maid passed closely by, eyeing the girls, Melara leaned away as to feign innocence. The young girl smiled in satisfaction as she watched a glimmer rise in Cersei's eyes.
Cersei looked around, making sure that the maid had gone. They were now alone in the open corridor.

'A witch, who can tell the future? We must go.'

Jeyne bit her lip, bothered, 'Are you sure this is a good idea? They'd recognise us before we could ever reach the North Gate.'

Melara touched Jeyne's shoulder, giving it a light squeeze, and she felt her relax a bit, 'We can sneak out of course, hide with cloaks, she tells us our fortune and we leave. Simple as that.'
Their friend did not look any more convinced, so Melara added, 'If you feel any hesitation as we go, you can turn back whenever you feel like it.'

'Or do not come at all if you're too scared,' threw in Cersei.

Melara dared to stare pointedly at Cersei, head slightly tilted.

Cersei glanced back with that same conceited look that Melara was accustomed to.

Jeyne straightened herself, smiling at the two and oblivious to the silent exchange that had transpired. 'Of course that I'll come.'

Cersei stroked her friend's brown hair, her grin growing larger, 'it is settled, then. Tomorrow, Melara, you'll stay with us in Casterly Rock, we'll go before the night falls.'

Jeyne was not clueless about the thin bounds of patience Cersei possessed, being the most sensitive of the three, Melara put herself between the two to give Jeyne a respite.
'Let me guess,' she turned to Cersei, 'You'll ask about the dragon prince?'

The blonde had taken a fancy to Rhaegar Targaryen ever since his coming to Lannisport for the tourney.

'I have to know how my life as queen shall be.'

Jeyne smiled, playing with the flowers they had picked. 'Isn't it already clear? Your father is already preparing you for the task too…'

Cersei hummed, seemingly lost in thought, 'He is, but there are more important things to know about.'

Melara's eyebrows came together, 'Such as?'

Her friend almost laughed to her face, she placed her hand on her forearm and drew her over, 'don't play coy! Romance, children, these kinds of things.'

'What will you ask, Mel?' inquired Jeyne.

Before she could give her answer, Jaime Lannister walked toward them.

Cersei stepped forward to meet him by the centre of the inner courtyard garden, kissed him on the cheek before she led him by the arm to join her friends.

They greeted each other.

'What are you doing?' asked Jaime.

Melara and Jeyne turned to each other, small grins in place. 'Flower crowns,' said Melara as she took a bouquet sitting by the low wall.

'Cersei said you couldn't make a flower crown to save your own life.'

His sister hit his shoulder while Melara chuckled, 'she's right, the flowers are much safer in Jeyne's hands, show him!'

Her friend's face became flushed, but she did make a quick and neat work with the flowers nonetheless before handing it to him, 'give this one to Tyrion.'

Melara tried to hide her wince as she watched Cersei's lips downturned.

Jaime nodded and thanked her as she handed the crown to him, an awkward pause settled in where Jeyne busied herself with flowers and Cersei looked out toward the sea.

Melara watched Jaime shift slightly, his eyes trained on his twin before meeting her eyes. He cast them down as quickly.

He cleared his throat before fleeing with the flower crown.
Melara could feel her brows knit, she supposed that silence was a source of awkwardness for Jaime.

Well, whatever it was, she hoped that she wasn't the source of discomfort at the very least.

It took hours for Melara to finally convince her father to let her spend the night in Casterly Rock, with the gratuitous help of her mother. Tamora had been ecstatic, so much so that Melara was starting to find it embarrassing. However, she did not have the heart to stifle her excitement because, while the real purpose behind their small get-together would not be seen favourably by any of their Septas, she was also looking forward to discovering the view of Lannisport in the night from Casterly Rock.

Melara had been waiting near the pond, Tamora sat down beside her. 'Gwen has packed your things, you're ready to go.'

Her mother took her face between her hands, 'What will I do when you are to be married?'
Melara grew red, 'what are you saying, I'm years away from that! And, I'm only spending one night in Casterly Rock.'
Tamora jiggled her daughter's face, despite Melara's protest. 'Time has no mercy, you'll find it soon enough when you become a mother.'
'Soon is at least in a billion years,' started Melara, but upon the look of her mother she begrudgingly let out, 'Fifteen, then.'
'I was two and twenty when I got your brother, rest his soul, then six years later, you.'

For a moment, the birds singing and the rustles of leaves filled the silence.

'Do you ever resent the Stranger for taking him?... Me? I've outlived him by two years, now.'
Pulling a strand behind her ear, Tamora smiled, sadness locked away in her eyes.
'I'd never resent you. As for the Stranger… I'll admit, it made me less sensitive to the Septon's words, I've strayed even, but I didn't carry hate,' she picked strands of heathers scattered near the pond's bed. 'You know, I used to think, Edmon was for your father, and you, sweet Melara,' Tamora started to put the flowers in her braid, 'you're all mine.'

That tore a smile upon her daughter's lips, breaking the sorrowful ambience.

Chapter Text

Mayhap, they should have been exhausted by now, trying to slip away from Jaime, the Septas or maids, it felt like a lifetime had passed between Melara's arrival for supper and now.

Yet, their night was only beginning.

'Jeyne! Come on!' urged Cersei, the girl was leading their trio down a dark path.

The girls, all clad in dark cloaks that Cersei had nicked from the maids' quarters, hurried as they walked down the stairs. Melara recognised the very same corridor they had taken so often to reach the sea. They walked quietly, containing their excitement for later, as for now they walked as the sun set.

Melara struggled a bit with her cloak, far longer than Cersei and Jeyne's. She resisted the urge to pull it off, Cersei kept a hand on her arm, as if she feared for her to slip away from her grasp.

Jeyne was the most reticent, the discomfort clear on her face as they trudged near the most unsavoury part of Lannisport to reach the North Gate.
Melara took Jeyne's hand, smiling in reassurance.

The woods were not so scary, found Melara who had taken it upon herself to leave heathers upon their path to find the way upon their return.
It was magnificent even at this time of day, the last rays of sunshine bled through the tree branches and shining a light on the speckles of dust surrounding them.

As if time had stopped.

Cersei stopped her from walking any further.

'There's one of those disgusting wells.'

Melara looked down at her feet, there were a few unused wells by the outskirts of the woods, badly covered with decaying wooden planks.

The dreadful hole seemed deep when she leaned over it, the thought of falling into it carried a deadly promise. Cersei squeezed her hand to incite her to move forward.

Melara thanked God when they spotted the hut.

The three of them stopped as if to assess that they had found the right place.

The structure made of wood and straw looked haggard to say the least, but Melara reasoned that it also seemed quite abnormally sturdy. Yet, no sounds came out of the thing.
The silence spooked Jeyne, who finally let go of Melara and started to step out of their reach, the girl shook her head and left them with a feeble apology on her lips. Melara pursed her lips, doing her best to not show disappointment, but as she turned back to Cersei, she guessed that Jeyne was anticipating Cersei's reaction to her when they'd meet again.

'Coward,' chirped the blonde.

Melara opted to sooth her friend, 'Maybe she's not wrong, if your father hears…'
'He'll never know we were gone.'
'But if he finds out?'

Cersei took both of her hands, a slight smile, one she thought appeared reassuring.

'You're like my sister, you do not need to be afraid of my father.'

The brunette could think of several reasons why she, and many others, should be afraid of Tywin Lannister. There was no point in voicing them, so she smiled back.
'Let us go to the witch before it gets too dark.'
After all, what they had been waiting for days was finally within their reach. Her friend took her arm and the two marched forward, sure of themselves.

Destiny awaited inside the tiny house.

They were welcomed by a strong smell, a variety in fact. Melara thought of burned herbs, reminding her slightly of what her mother did in their kitchens during full moons.

A fire lit up the small place, but not enough to see much outside of silhouettes.
The sound of mice in the dark had Melara gripping her dress tightly, a pair of red eyes glowed far too close to her feet and she shrieked.
'Get out!' hurled the woman from her bed. If her accent was of any indication, the middle aged witch's looks confirmed them of some Essosi heritage.

Beside her, Cersei assessed the woman. 'You're not terrifying for a witch.'

She stepped forward, despite Melara's small attempt to keep the two of them out of the woman's reach. 'You're a bore.'

The witch, now better alert, glared at the impetuous girl, 'You don't know what I am.'

'I know that you are a witch, and that you can see the future.' Cersei straightened herself only just a bit, head held high, 'Tell me mine.'
Maggy laughed, the sound hammering inside Melara's skull. 'Everyone wants to know their future until they know it.'

Cersei kept her ground, unshaken. 
'This is my father's land, my land. Tell me my future, or I'll have your eyes gouged out of your head.'

The witch got up slowly, her wrinkled face half hidden in the shadows. Melara remained frozen.

She could only watch from the sidelines as Maggy took out a sharp knife. 'Blood…'

Her gasp was stuck in her throat, thinking of prayers to God for the two of them to get out of the hut alive. Her reason was leaving her, had Maggy not been a benefactor to maidens before?
Maggy swiftly handed Cersei, who flinched, the knife by the handle. 'Give me a taste.'
Her friend slowly did as she said. The witch brought her bleeding finger to her lips.

'Your question?'

'When will I marry the prince?'

With a malign glint in her eyes, Maggy said, 'you'll never wed a prince, or any kings. You'll be a Lady of a great house, for a time, then comes another. Younger, more beautiful, to cast you down and take all you hold dear. When your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life out of you.'

Cersei was seething, and as Melara advanced to take Cersei's arm so they could flee the hut, Maggy took Melara's hand and finally cast her eyes upon the girl.

'Not curious, my dear?'

Melara glanced at Cersei for a second, her friend was lost in her thoughts and so, without giving it another thought, she nodded to the witch despite Cersei's meek agitation in that very moment.

She pricked her finger, a single drop emerging out of her flesh, and brought it to her lips. Maggy looked at her expectantly.

'Will I marry Jaime Lannister?'

Cersei grasped her forearm, tightly.

Before Melara could spare her friend a glance, the witch spoke.
'Everything is to be out of reach, weddings much so. You could cling on to deceive the almighty Stranger, but your death is here tonight, and worms are to have your maidenhead, little one. Can you smell her breath? She is very close.'

Worms are to have your maidenhead, it rang in between her ears, increasing the ache encircling the crown of her head.

The woman screeched the second a jar hit her face, sharps of glass slicing her from cheeks to throat, she brought her hands to her eyes while she continued to scream in pain.

That brought back Melara from her stupor.

She dragged herself and Cersei out of the dreadful hut.

They silently walked in haste, following Melara's flowery trail, until the hut was out of sight.

The tight grip Cersei had on her had not eased, wrinkling her sleeve, probably even ruining her embroidery work.

Melara finally faced her friend.
The girl believed Cersei's face to be undecipherable, she was just as shaken as herself.

'Cersei?'

The blonde met her eyes for a brief moment, a frown still adorned her face.

'We should…no, we must never speak of the things we've heard in there!' Melara tried to catch her gaze again, 'she was obviously trying to give us a fright. If we never speak of it, we'll forget about it, and it'll only be as if we've had a bad dream.'

In a voice that sounded calmer than she looked, Cersei said, 'she's retaliated against my threats, she was only having her fun.'
Melara smiled, alleviated a bit. 'Let's go, Jeyne must be worried sick.'

The lion remained mute as they kept on walking, the sky now a deep purple. Melara thought themselves lucky, as the moon shone bright over the woods, lighting them the way through the leaves. Moments like these, as if nature was looking out for her, brought her warmth and reminded her how little they all were, titles or not.

'On the bright side of this little quest of ours! The woods are magnificent at night!'
It elicited no replies from her friend, Cersei let her arm go. Melara turned to her again, an inquisitive look on her face.

'Dangerous, too,' retorted Cersei, but again Melara could not make much of her friend's behaviour.

In an attempt to ignore the spark of apprehension rising up in her stomach, she spoke. 'Enough dangers for tonight, I'm spent and so are you.'

Melara moved forward again, without Cersei latching onto her arm.

After a few steps, Cersei still had not caught up to her and Melara stopped immediately, about to turn on her heels.

'Cers–'

Gold flashed in the dark.
Pressure unsubtle on her back.

Melara plummeted down a never-ending abyss.

Something was amiss.

Her body struck an icy wall.

Melara grew heavier.

Her clothes doused in muddy waters, a shriek was stuck in the torso, not out of stupor, she just could not.

Her mouth opened, the dark liquid sweeping over it, disgusting on her tongue.

Melara called for her dear friend, the sharp pains overwhelming her small body.

She called for anyone, her body heavy and her skirts dragging her underneath the dark.

Tired became both the body and the voice, floating or dead already.

Melara let herself go.

The abyss, not so empty, shone bright red.

A red sphere above her head, was it the Stranger?

Or the moon?

Was it here to take her? Will it wipe the pain away?

The tears spilled out of her, blurring all of her vision, she could only make out the silhouette of a black bird diving into the hole.

Had she turned into a corpse?

No, she felt the freezing water burning her skin, she heard her teeth clacking together, she could smell the rancid odour all around her, staining her and her beautiful dress.

Until she could not feel and hear anything, as if it all vanished.

Instead, she flew, over her floating and still breathing body, eyes all white.

Cersei vanished, too.

Melara, was she still that body down there?

She flapped the pair of wings, diving in the skies and making her way to the safest place.

Melara found her mother's bedroom window opened.

Tamora was frantic in there, eyes blood-red and putting on a cloak over her house gown, leaving the comfort of her bed.

She followed her mother from above, who ran with might and main.

To both of their surprise, Jeyne came to find her mother, Melara flew closer.

'Cersei told me that Melara fell down a well!'

'You went to Maggy?'
Upon Jeyne's silence, her mother shook the girl by the shoulder, eyes wide open.

Her friend bobbed her head up and down, tears threatening to spill.

'Get Maester Thom, of Casterly Rock.'

Tamora ran again, coming out of the stables on a horse moments later.

The bird got closer, too close.

And upon a turn, the horse kicked her, sending her back to the abyss.

Chapter Text

Melara woke up gasping in the well, moon white again. 

She was alive? She wiggled her extremities, she felt everything, the pain too.

She had to cling to something, her mother was coming for her. 

Melara reached for the wall, slightly relieved when she recognised the outlines of bricks.

She brought herself closer, feeling the walls with both her hands and feet to find gaps, or stones sticking out slightly. 

One underneath the water was far too narrow to rely upon it, she fell backward into the water. The pain in her head grew sharper. 

Melara tried again, feeling already ragged. 

Her extinguished voice was the only thing keeping her from screaming in joy when she got a grip on a steady brick, allowing her to keep her upper body out of the water.

Melara turned around so she could put her weight on the wall, arms above her to keep herself out of the darkness. 

Her arms were burning, and she was on the brink of giving up until she heard her mother's voice calling her name. 

'Mother!'

She cried as loud and as much as she could.

'Melara!'

Finally, she looked up, and there she was above the well.

'I'll send you a rope! Can you wrap it around your waist?'

Melara screamed positively from below.

The cord fell with a 'plop' beside her, she threw herself onto it, making quick work of tightening it around her despite her shaking and nausea.

She managed to shout, 'Done!' 

Seconds later, the rope was straight and taut.

As soon as she felt as though she was being extirpated out of the water, she gripped the rope with both hands, whispering prayers with what little voice she had left. 

Melara was halfway out of the wretched place when it stopped, leaving her dangling against the wall.

'Mum?' 

Her voice was no louder than a broken whisper.

Tamora appeared again, and rushed back out of sight. 

The girl breathed heavily in relief when she felt the rope pulling her out again, and soon enough she could reach for the edge of the well.

Her mother gripped her tightly, wrestling her daughter out of the Stranger's mouth. 

Melara collapsed on the ground, in the cold air, her injuries felt like being sliced over and over again. Albeit, a part of her had never been this happy to feel the earth, without realising, her hands dug into the dirt and grass.

Tamora cradled her, eyes tearing up in relief.

Yet, upon checking her daughter's injuries, the blood leaking behind her head was crushing all hopes.

'Hang on, will you, my sweet girl?' 

Despite the view of her mother weeping above her, Melara felt so drowsy and her eyelids were so heavy, like the rest of her cold body.

Tamora was desperate, but as her most precious possession closed her eyes and her breath remained imperceptible, something had to be done. 

Even if she had to pay the price.

Chapter Text

For what felt like an eternity, she flew over the westerlands, woods she had never seen and mountains top none could reach, black feathers instead of that cold body of hers. 

A miracle, that was what they repeatedly called it, such were the whispers that reached her ears as she possessed no force to wake up from this half-slumber. 

Melara opened her eyes to gold lions threaded into a bright red silk and red were the sheets laid upon her, too.  

Maesters and septas came and went about her room. A room in Casterly Rock, she wondered why. Yet, it was pointless, no one would answer her questions, nor did anyone visit her. She was a ghost in the room, under the care of the lion's carers. 

One morning, she woke up feeling herself more alive, her body more alert despite a headache looming behind her skull. A septa quietly entered the room, opening the door just enough for her and her tray to slip inside, and it immediately alerted Melara, why did she have to be discreet? 

It brought some relief when she recognised Septa Lynora, the late Jason Lannister's bastard, a blonde woman in her twenties to whom she had grown familiar with upon her visits.

The woman set the tray by the bedside before finally casting a glance at the girl. Melara sat up in the enormous bed, she did not have the chance to utter the first word. 

'Dame Melara, you are indeed healthy as a horse, you'll be running around in no time, that's good.' 

The girl frowned, 'why was I brought here? Where's my mother? My father?'

Melara was brutally reminded that she was speaking to a Lannister, nonetheless, when the septa sat down beside her, those green eyes she had grown so acquainted with never left hers. 

'You are being confined, until you recover completely.' 

'When will that be?'

Lynora glanced at a candle, the wick burnt, and wax melted onto the wood. 

'Maester Thom wishes to keep you here two nights more.'

'How long have I been here?' 

'Five days, Dame Melara.'

Another question burnt on the tip of her tongue but Septa Lynora shut her down, 'Since you are awake, I'll let you eat, you haven't had a hearty meal in almost a week, you must be famished.' 

As quickly as she arrived, she left, in hurried and soundless steps. 

The confinement left Melara wondering if she was being kept at bay for her own sake or because of something else. Then, Cersei came to mind and her stomach dropped. 

Where had she been? Where had she gone? 

While uncertainty gnawed at her, she listed what she could recall. Cersei's disappearance, Jeyne running to her mother, her mother looking for her. How did Jeyne know? 

The most plausible thing would be that Cersei rushed to warn someone, could she have met Jeyne?

That must be it.

So, why did Melara still hold doubts? 

The pressure on her back, vivid in her memory, chilled her spine.

But, she did not know, none of it. It had been a dream, from the moment she fell down the black hole, everything was a blur, the moon bled, her mother's voice, a rope.

Melara walked around the room, her legs stiff and weak. The bed was too warm, if she remained lying down a second more she might burst into flames. She walked in circles for half an hour, occasionally thrusting some food down her throat when the stomach ache begged her to, until the throbbing at the back of her skull came back, before letting herself collapse on the bed. 

Sleep brought her no haven, as her heart was squeezed and stopped by nightmares. Letting her see her mother in the hands of the Silent sisters.

Tamora Hetherspoon looked fast asleep, no blemishes, bruises or cuts to ruin the tender skin. 

Melara dissolved into tears, the corpse of her mother clear as day in her mind.

Her sobs alerted the knights behind her door, who barged in. They were blurry before her, and she couldn't care less to stop her tears. 

The guards did not know what to do as Melara kept on crying and her breath was getting shorter and shorter, hiccuping occasionally.

Whatever words they were saying were blocked off by the growing pressure in both of her ears, as if she was again underwater, and it made her want to scream. She tried to, she could not hear herself, but one of the guards rushed outside while the other stood hesitant in the room. 

He slowly stepped closer to her bed, a hand out.

Melara blatantly ignored him as she tried to focus on one thing to stop the room from spinning.

The guard seemed even more alarmed as she was beginning to gasp for air. Her lungs burned, she just wanted to cough, but the water… her nightdress clung to her skin.

She was once again stuck, the abyss, the room, it was all the same,  and she would die there.

A tall man with gold hair dressed in a nightshirt and dark pants appeared by the door, standing there as if he were a ghost visiting a guest. Maybe he spoke too, no words could reach her at the moment anyway.

The guard stepped out of the room, letting the man sit down beside the girl. Melara recognised Tywin Lannister briefly, she’d barely ever seen him, but there he was, as stern as ever and even more so since Joanna’s death. 

‘Dame Hetherspoon,’ he firmly grasped her shoulder and unclenched her fist. She winced once she realised that she had been digging her nails into her palm. ‘There’s no reason to be afraid.’ He said it loud and flat, his tone even felt like a slap, but it was devoid of hostility. He squeezed her shoulder when she seemed to be responsive to his words, slightly calming down. 

‘You’ll be home soon enough.’

'Soon?’ croaked Melara, her mouth now dry like sand. 

He nodded, ‘Soon, with the people you care about.’

Right, she would see her parents again. Her mother was fine. So was her father. 

Melara moved her head up and down, unclenching her jaw. As weird as it sounded in her mind, Lord Lannister patted her back as she slowly regained control over herself and her surroundings.

Little did she know that Tywin’s secret talent for grounding people going out of their mind was something he mastered as a newly-wed man when his wife had terrors because of the man he once considered a friend. A man with a crown on his head. 

He seemed satisfied once she grew quiet, still teary-eyed, but no longer did her screams and panting echoed throughout the keep’s corridors.

‘The Maester will bring you a draught to calm you down.’ 

She would think it foolish of her later, but she asked nonetheless.

‘Lord Lannister, my mother, is she alright?’

He stopped in his tracks and stared at her.

‘Her name’s Tamora Hether-’ 

‘I know your mother’s name, Melara.’

The man was completely facing her.

‘Maester Thom told me you did not remember much.’

Melara shook her head, she felt obliged to say something. ‘I dreamt of her.’

His brows shot up only slightly, unnoticed by the girl due to the distance between them. It took a moment before he replied.

‘Well, she’s resting, it would do you good that you do, too.’

Tywin turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the door opened. 

A smaller version of him stood now by the door, watching her as if she was some unknown creature. A tremor shook through her as she recognised Jaime, and then her silly question back in the hut, and the scary prediction the witch had voiced out. 

Death had been breathing beside her.

Was it Cersei? No. 

There was no reason for Cersei to push her, kill her. Cersei had said so herself, they were sisters. And Cersei was fierce about the things she cared about. About her family. 

She did not die. Melara clung on to that fact. 

Things would go back to normal after this. 

As the Maester entered her room with a tray, Jaime remained outside, the guards blocking the sight of her from him despite his attempts to crane his neck to peek at her again.

The liquid was disgusting to drink, and Melara pondered more about the witch before slumber fell down on her like a hammer blow. 

Chapter Text

Tamora Hetherspoon did rest.

Forever in a deep slumber, against Melara’s wishes.

The daughter felt numb. Her father, inconsolable, did his best at providing comfort, but there were so many tears he could shed. 

Melara prayed to the Stranger,who'd lead her mother in the after-life, and she prayed to the Crone, to send her the truth. She dared not call for the Father, because if she asked for justice, would she be spared? 

Had she not been foolish enough to seek the witch for her morrows, no sorrows would beat her breast.

The day of the funeral, she picked up some heathers before finally seating behind her father on his horse to follow the procession.  

There was some peaceful quiet before they reached Lannisport, then once they reached the centre and the very same place her mother and she spent so much time, a buzzing crowd awaited to both Hetherspoon’s surprise.

Her father squeezed her hand, while Melara was quite grateful that she had a veil across her face, her confusion hidden to all. 

Melara focused on her mother, laid before her with two painted stones on her eyes, in her blue dress and combed dark hair. The procession was happening far later than it should have, but she looked as if she had been breathing just yesterday. 

Flowers were scattered around her body in abundance, to cover the smell of rot. 

It came to her notice that the attention was not solely on her mother, but herself, too. 

There were pointed looks and a breeze of whispers as they passed by. 

Her father shifted slightly, stretching his back and hiding her further. 

Melara supposed they were wondering how she came out of a well unscathed, even though she did not know, and the people around her could not give her answers. 

They all agreed upon one version, Tamora Hetherspoon must have gone down too to retrieve her daughter and succumbed to internal injuries once they were out. Melara knew it was all wrong, but she had nothing to prove it, but a defective memory, and incongruous notions that would paint her as a crazed and attention-seeking little girl. 

Some things were best buried.

Tybolt lifted her off the horse, and hand in hand they climbed up the steps to the Sept, Tamora was being carried before them, and was delicately laid on the altar with her head towards the grand statue of the Stranger. 

Her father was given a matchstick, and he walked around the altar to light up each candle. Melara, uncomfortable at the attention at that precise moment, walked closer to her mother and put the small bouquet she had gathered from their garden in her cold hands. 

She selected a few heathers to put in her hair, pinks and purples to frame her face, Tamora needed no crown, and everyone would remember her as regal until the very end. 

Melara kissed her mother's cheek one last time, her father's warm hand on her back was like a balm as she was slightly repulsed by the coldness of the corpse. She stepped back, looking away as Tybolt kissed his wife's hand as the final farewell. 

Unintentionally, her gaze fell upon the Lannister family, and to her surprise, the Warden of the West stood next to his twins, as rigid as ever. She nodded in greeting like she had seen so many did, and she couldn't escape their green eyes, but what she found in them saddened her. Jaime watched her in pity, something that she never knew she could hate this much,  his sister, with that blank look of hers, the one she had never learnt how to read. 

She missed her life from a week ago, when all she had to care about was making her friends laugh.

Little by little, people walked to the altar to greet them and say their farewells to Dame Hetherspoon. 

Tybolt shifted beside her, and the slight befuddlement that had grown over seeing more unfamiliar faces come to them had turned into utter consternation. 'Father?'

He turned to her, lips pursed, 'I do not know any more than you, Melara.'

But the queue was never ending, Melara chanced a glance to Tywin Lannister, who seemed to be as if he had expected it, and yet a hint of annoyance still oozed out of his posture. Septon Yvon stood by him, facing away, their lips moving in haste. 

As soon as Tywin caught her watching, he lifted his hand, silencing the priest. 

An elderly woman, when she finally got to reach the altar, took Melara in her arms. Alarming her father and herself, Tybolt tried to peacefully get her to step back. 

'Your mother accomplished the miracle, did she not? Look at you, unscathed!' 

Melara stared at the woman, at a loss for words. 

When she reached for her face, Tybolt caught her wrist. 'I beg, madame, we'd like some peace.'

The old woman seemed to regain some bout of awareness, and apologised before stepping back and walking away. Some knights made sure to block the way to anyone else but the Lannisters when they walked through seconds later. 

Melara did not dare to look at the twins, so she settled for the realm's intimidating Lord Hand as he stepped closer.

'It's getting out of hand, I've asked Septon Yvon to not let anyone in now. Grief and prayers cannot be done in such conditions.'

Tybolt Hetherspoon bowed and thanked him, Tywin turned to Melara, then. 

'My children will escort you to get some fresh air by the courtyard, will they?'

Jaime and Cersei bolted slightly at their father's attention, and they both nodded in earnest. Cersei took Melara's hand and guided her through the crowd. For a second, she was brought back to a few years ago when tourneys and feasts were held for the birth of the prince Viserys, Cersei was guiding her and Jeyne through the throng of laughing girls and drunkards.

Jaime was close behind, his hand resting on her shoulder. 

Melara looked over her shoulder, to watch her father with Lord Lannister, but Jaime's face blocked them off her sight and she had to watch him give her a tight smile. 

They reached the inner courtyard, fountains and red rose bushes to flood their senses, Melara swiftly escaped from the twins' grasp to stand by the fountain, hoping for the water to cool her down. She lifted the black veil off her face, plunged her hands in the cold and translucent water before pressing them on both of her cheeks. 

She sat down on a bench, ignoring the blondes' stares to focus on some rose beside her. 

They did not have any roses in their garden, it was not too late to give one to her mother, maybe. 

Cersei fidgeted, to Jaime's astonishment, before rushing to sit down next to Melara.

'I've tried to see you in Casterly Rock, but father forbade everyone, and I was confined too. How are you feeling?' 

Melara looked down at her hand next to hers, she swallowed back her discomfort. 

'I'll be fine.' 

Cersei gave her a sympathetic smile.

Then, she cast a look toward her twin, who just stood there, watching Melara. The blonde's smile faded. Howbeit, an idea sparked, and she stood up to leave with an excuse to bring Melara some water.

She'd concede Jaime to her friend for a bit, as consolation. It will be painful to have to see Jaime with her, knowing the things she knew from their time at the hut, but it will help to ease down the small guilt lodged in between her chest and stomach.

Her friend had taught her a good lesson, to never trust anyone but her other half, and for that she shall give her a moment with the boy she had shamelessly set her eyes upon. And, maybe it would remind her of what she could never achieve in this life and the next.

Melara frowned at Cersei's retreating figure. 

She supposed explanations would have to wait another day. Jaime came to sit down by her side. 

'How are you now?'

Her frown did not lessen, but she could not bring herself to shift her gaze to the boy. 

'Confused. Nothing makes sense.' 

'People are going mad with talks about miracles.'

She sent a glare his way. 'My mother's death? Or, as your father put it, her resting.'

'Your survival…And, your mother. They speak of sacrifice.' 

Melara snorted, she'd rather have died in that well. 

She decided to change the subject. 'I haven't been able to have a decent night of sleep in days, but I think you know that.'

Jaime could tell from the puffy eyes and near purple bags under them, but he supposed it brought out the blue of her eyes. When their mother died, he had Cersei to help him sleep better. Maybe, she could do the same with her brother. 

Cersei mentioned him once. 

No, Jaime recalled that she told him that he had died years ago. 

'I could help you sleep,' he blurted out. 

Melara finally turned to him, incredulous, and Jaime wondered what had he said wrong, but then, she laughed. 

Her howl of mirth ceased when she caught his look, he was stunned to silence. 

'Thank you for the offer, but I doubt you'll ever have the occasion of spending the night in my manor, nor will I have to spend it in Casterly Rock again.' 

'Of course you will, Cersei adores you.' 

Melara smiled, mirth all gone. 

Jaime spoke again, 'you have Jeyne, Cersei, me, we'll be there for you, like you were.' 

‘That’s kind of you,’ she said in a way that she hoped would prompt the end of their exchange.

However, the boy never looked this excited to speak with her in their years of acquaintances. ‘You know, Cersei is usually the one who’s good with words.’

Irritated by the mention of her once again, Melara let her tongue loose. ‘I do know. I don’t want words now, I need peace.’

She stood up abruptly, pulling on a rose off its stem before walking again to the fountain, kneeling on the floor. As she peeled the petals one by one, she apologised to Jaime without sparing him a look. 

‘I forget myself, you’re being amiable but—’

A rose dropped by her elbow, Jaime had joined her.

‘I understand,’ that’s all he added.

Melara finally glanced at Jaime.

Two weeks ago, she would have been giddy at the prospect of being so close to him, and now, all she could think about was how underwhelming his presence felt to her. 

She reached for the other rose, crushed its petals and tossed them in the water. 

Cersei came back, without a glass of water, to Melara’s pleasure. She was not sure if she had the confidence to drink anything the girl gave her, she could lbarely ook at her, too. 

It was aggravating to see that usual spark in her eyes, as if she had thought of something hilarious and had to contain herself. 

The border between hilarity and cruelty was thin within Cersei, even when it came to childish antics. 

‘Jaime, would you mind giving us a moment?’ 

He shook his head and walked further into the courtyard. Far enough as to not hear their conversation but still close enough to see them, from where he stood he had a perfect view on Melara, and Jaime found himself never lifting his eyes away from her. The scene a few days ago had not left his mind. 

The Mighty Tywin Lannister, had comforted the girl, Melara. 

The tragedy that had befallen her family was gut-wrenching, yet, that knowledge did nothing to quell some… Jealousy. The same he had felt when, a few years ago, he and his twin stood by as the Hetherspoon teased and loved each other so openly, the same he felt when he came across boys his age taken care of by their fathers. A stupid thought, he reprimanded himself, he was no ordinary boy, and he was no son coming from an ordinary man's loins.

He tried to think of nothing, and so he focused on Cersei. 

She always eased his mind.

Cersei had taken his place and kneeled next to her. 

‘I should have been better.’

Melara turned to her, trying to hide her shock.

‘You took care of me when my mother died, I didn’t fight enough to see you.’

God was pulling a trick on her, perhaps, thought Melara.

‘I tried, they’d tell me that you needed rest, and once you were back to your keep… I didn’t know if you’d even want to see anyone, even me. You never cried before me, I've come to realise.’

Cersei reached for the crushed flower in the water, flattening it out on the stone. 

‘I never had reasons to cry.’

‘Nor do I. But I remember my mother’s death, I’m glad that I wasn’t alone, that I had you.’

Cersei grasped Melara’s hand with her wet hand.

The well came to her mind again.

‘I have my father.’

‘He’s grieving too. Mine was never the same after that.’

Her father was nothing like hers, but she kept that down her throat. 

‘Right. He needs time, too.’

Before Melara could slip her hand out of her grasp, Cersei encaged her with both hands. 

‘I feel guilty.’

Now, Melara could not hide her shock. ‘How so?’

‘If I had been faster, your mother might have... But when I saw you fall… I couldn’t—’

Cersei burst out crying, she took a moment to compose herself. ‘I couldn’t move, I couldn’t see you, it was all black, and you were not answering, and it was like you just vanished.’

Melara felt relieved. 

The weight wearing her down lifted from her.

‘You are devastated for now, but I’m so glad that you were not ripped from me. You can rely on me, Melara, I won’t let you down ever again.’

Cersei shed some of her tears.

Melara took her in her arms. 

Now, she felt guilty.

Stupid, even, for doubting her for so long, her own tears fell down her cheeks.

She had lost her mother, yet her sister in all but blood had not abandoned her. 

The witch had indeed been cruel and meant to wound them with her bloody tongue. 

Oh, she must be laughing at her. 

Maybe she was in the crowd, watching the funeral in merriment. 

Chapter Text

A wooden spoon dug into the smooth bark of an old tree, its face marked by the seven-pointed star, and blue eyes lost in thought. Lion cubs circled her, hidden in the tall grass, as they tugged on each other's tails.

Melara missed when her nights were dreamless.

Either her dreams made little sense to her or they felt insignificant, however insignificant, those would always happen. Minutes after growing out of her slumber, the weird knowledge that she wouldn’t see her mother that day came, then, the dawning fact that she would never ever see her again. 

Her stomach ache had only got worse as she sat by the table in her kitchen. Their maid, Gwen, was working on some dough, not so far away. She had promised her blueberry biscuits after all.

Melara felt as though her stomach was trying to eat itself, and her lower back ached, and no matter how she twisted herself, nothing was bringing her any relief, her bones refused to crack.

With the back of her silver spoon, she dug into the wooden table, the repetitive task giving her a distraction from the pain.

When it was all ready, Gwen came to settle a plate full of sweets before Melara. ‘Don’t eat them all, lunch will be served in a few,’ warned the servant.

Gwen gasped as Melara put down the spoon and reached for a pastry. ‘What is this!?’

She felt the carving on the table. Her star was curved and did not look as she intended. 

Melara smiled sheepishly. ‘A flower?’

Gwen sighed. ‘I know that, why did you carve it on the table?’

Melara had no response, so she filled her mouth with the biscuit, until she merely blurted out, ‘I wasn’t thinking.’

Gwen exhaled, touching the little flower carving.

Melara added, ‘A beloved table is a used one, is it not?’

‘Let’s hope your father sees it this way too.’

That did not disturb the girl one bit, who continued stuffing her mouth with the biscuit.

Melara quietly took the plate and fled from the kitchens as soon as Gwen had her back turned.

Her stomach rumbled loudly as she headed to her father’s office. 

Melara was still wearing black, nearly five months after her mother's passing, but all her dresses had been ones that her mother had designed and worked on, but she now lay under the ground and would not see her in them. She could not bear to touch them, so they remained in the wooden chest, much to the chagrin of Gwen, who tried to threaten her that she would wear them down to grey as she had only four black dresses to juggle with. 

She did not wait for her father's approval before stepping inside. Tybolt was perched over his desk, overseeing paperwork, until he leaned back, and directed all of his attention to Melara. 

His eyes fell on the black gown, he sighed. 

'Biscuits?' she offered.

'Sure, before you finish them all.' 

Melara frowned before slowly putting the plate on his desk, as he took a bite of one of the biscuits, the girl watched over his shoulder, letters from other vassal houses were put on the side. 'What is it?' 

Tybolt laid a letter down to the furniture, 'They need more of our crops for their cattle, they never received the last delivery.'

'You'll go there yourself?'

He nodded. 'You'll be in good hands with Gwen…' he eyed the black attire, 'I was thinking, maybe I should find you a personal maid,' he let out more to himself. 

'I take good care of myself already,' and before that, it had been her mother. 

'I don't doubt it, but I'd feel more at ease knowing there's someone whose sole focus is on you.' 

He was also tired of waking up in alert as his daughter screamed in her sleep at nights, she would not remember it most of the time. He thought that she was back inside that well when the candles were blown off, and even if he sought her before bed, Tybolt knew that he'd never be able to soothe her like Tamora could. 

'You're already twelve, there are things that you will have to know–'

'I can figure them out for myself.'

Her father watched her, unimpressed. 'I'd rather you do not. I'll take a young woman, she'll take care of you. She will look out for you,' Melara was sulking before him and he sighed, he stood up and placed his hands on her shoulders, 'I miss her too, but we'll have to move on. You can't spend your life hiding away here, how many letters from your friends have you ignored? You know that it will come back to bite us if you don't maintain your friendships with the Lannisters or the Farman girl.'

Melara's eyes started to water. To her dismay, she understood and agreed with him. As much as she could enjoy Farman, and Cersei when she was being good, the little significance of her standing beside them gnawed at her. 

Melara was not indispensable.

'How will I do without her, father?'

He engulfed her in his embrace, 'We'll figure it out,' he whispered into her hair. 

‘How did you get through losing Edmon?’ whispered back Melara.

He pondered, still buried in her dark hair. 

He finally let her go. ‘I had your mother, and you,’ he brushed her hair, ‘I still have you, thank God.’

Melara squeezed his hand, finally letting herself go, crying in her father’s arms. 

When she felt better, she sought Maester Alby. Additional lessons or reading were what she needed to put a stop to her thoughts and quench her loneliness. 

In Casterly Rock, Jaime was stopping himself from running to meet his twin, instead he sat, unnoticed, in his father's office, Tywin Lannister had come back from King's Landing, which was a rarity in itself but was slowly becoming more and more frequent as his disagreements with the king piled up. 

The Lord Hand let the boy stay as he spoke with his brother, Kevan, who was overseeing the Rock in his absence. Jaime had felt trapped when his father had asked him for a report on his latest lessons. Tywin Lannister wanted to make sure that his son still knew how to read, at his every return. His uncle's arrival sealed his fate, and so, instead of playing with his dogs, Jaime remained.

'An increase in pilgrims?' repeated Tywin, incredulous. Lannisport was not unknown to pilgrims, yet they were not flooding their streets like in King's Landing. 

'The Poor Fellows reported that they were searching for Dame Hetherspoon's tomb,' explained Kevan. 

The name aroused Jaime's acute attention.

Lord Lannister sighed, filling his cup with wine and sitting down. 

His brother spoke, 'I did try to contain the rumours, asking the begging brothers to not spread false testimonies, but the small folk seems to –'

'Could there have been a witness that would spread the word that a woman alone would get her daughter out of a six-foot deep well and bring the girl back to life?' 

'We could still try to trace back where it all started.'

'As precaution, do. However, we'll have to show that the girl is well, and most of all, as ordinary as the next. '

Jaime scowled, 'How would you do that?' 

Tywin and Kevan turned to the boy, who had been sitting quietly by the table.

His father took a sip, 'I don't even have to do anything, let her be by Cersei's side, people will see there's nothing special about her, nothing undead ,' the lord could not contain his disdain for the superstitious.

Jaime did not speak any more after that, he slipped out of the room unnoticed as they started to talk about finances. 

He thought about Melara, how could he describe her?

Friendly, compassionate, he supposed as she always felt the need to include everyone even if it displeased his twin, intelligent according to Cersei. His little brother, Tyrion, admitted to liking her too, from afar. 

He realised how little they actually interacted before, merely seconds when he'd join Cersei when Hetherspoon visited them in their keep. While Jeyne stayed in the Rock as Cersei's companion, Melara made the journey back and forth to her manor, not so far from them.

Cersei and he had not seen her since her mother's funeral, and his sister complained that she was ignoring her letters. 

It pained her to see how much her absence unsettled her, yet, secretly, he was pleased that her attention consequently went toward him. 

'Jaime!' called Cersei, standing by the door of her bedroom.

'No Farman with you?'

Cersei took his hand once he was within arm's reach, leading him inside. 

'No, I was waiting for you.' 

Jaime quietly closed the door behind him. 

Chapter Text

Warden of the West, golden hand all shining and heavy, follows the whistling wind between stones, where his own shadows fool him with smoke and mirrors. 

Melara had barely smiled, nor laughed, nor felt even a slight bit of happiness in months. She was stuck, and she and her body were changing, she certainly was not ready to face Jeyne and Cersei.

Her father and their maid, Gwen, were already walking on eggshells around her and it infuriated her to no end. 

She distractedly listened to Gwen's instructions on how to attach a cloth in the crotch area of her underpants. 

Her father was gone with the crops, and was meant to come back tonight. Melara waited for him, with only their housemaid Gwen to give her company. 

The house was awfully quiet, and to remediate with that, she hummed to herself as she sat by her windowsill, and watched the view. 

A fog covered the lands, plunging their meadows and the city in a light grey cloud.

She had fallen asleep at one point and woke up to the noises of her father's carriage making its way to the manor house's entrance.

Tybolt Hetherspoon barely made a step out of the wooden structure that his daughter was already coming out of their house, Gwen walked out behind her, sermonising the girl for her running. He kneeled and opened his arms for her to embrace him.

Melara kissed his cheek, and just as she stepped back, while her father's men were already tidying up and getting Ser Hetherspoon's luggages inside, she noticed the young woman stepping out of the carriage.

She was perhaps ten years her senior, with reddish hair and deep brown eyes, but her most striking feature was her scar, a white trace of what would have been a large slash from her cheekbone to her lip. 

The young woman was unfazed by Melara's staring, she stood tall and silent. 

'Who are you?' asked Melara.

The woman bowed, 'Imogen Stone, your new servant, mistress.' 

The girl turned to her father. 

'I believe it is time we lift some of the weight off Gwen's shoulders, Miss Stone will be entirely in your service. She's also skilled with needles, she will also be making your dresses from now on.' 

Melara glanced at the woman's attire, it was one of a commoner but upon closer look, the fabric was sturdy and of great quality, the pattern of her dress a perfect fit, and embroideries intricate and stunning. 

Upon noticing her interest, Imogen spoke again, 'I have other dresses that are of the same style, would you like me to show them to you?' 

Melara assessed her again, before she finally nodded and then guided her inside, her father forgotten by the carriage. Gwen did not let her bring her to her chambers just yet, dragging the newcomer to the servants quarters. Melara followed them nonetheless.

'I'll leave the two of you, I'll show you around once you're done,' said the older maid.

Imogen's garments were ones that she had never seen before. 'Is this what's in style in the Vale?' 

Imogen shot her eyebrows up, appraising her, 'How'd you know I'm from the Vale?'  

'Your surname, of course,' said Melara, without judgement, or so she believed. 

The servant chuckled, 'I did not expect for you to know this at your age,' she reached for another dress, of a vibrant red, 'However, I did not grow up on the continent, I was raised in the Three Sisters,' she passed her a smooth blue tissue to feel, 'we get a lot of silks from all over the world, and my mother was a great seamstress,' a soft smile gracing her lips.

Melara sat down on the bed. 'Was?'  

'She died of illness a few moons ago.'

'I'm sorry.'

'I should return the condolences, you lost your mother too,' Imogen patted her back and Melara smiled, 'She taught me and my cousin everything. Claudia's now under the employ of Lady Serala of Duskendale,' added the woman with pride. 

After a moment of admiration for her work, Melara spoke again.

'So, my father told you all about me.' 

'He told me you were going through a difficult time, I think that's why he hired me.'

'To stop me from blending into a wall with my dull colours?' joked Melara as she pointed to the vibrant dresses her new maid owned.

'Yes, very much so,' laughed Imogen, 'I'll be a great hindrance to your wallflower tendency, but also, I'm passionate about my work. I cannot have you dressed in all shades of greys, but rest assured, I'll never put you in uncomfortable gowns.' 

The girl smiled, 'I'll think we'll be great friends, then.'

'I think so too, Melara.'

A week later, Melara stood before Casterly Rock to meet with Cersei and Jeyne, a great effort on her part, or not so much as Imogen had worked on some of her dresses and made wonders with the deep blue dress that had been gathering dust in her wardrobe. 

Melara was looking forward to wearing it out. 

Jeyne came running to hug her as soon as she stepped in the courtyard.

'Oh, we've missed you!' 

Melara hugged her back. 

When Jeyne let her go, Melara said quietly, 'I've missed you too.' 

Cersei stood behind, as poised as ever. 

'You grew up a bit, Cersei, did you not?'

The Lannister girl observed her for a moment, Melara was taller only by a little, 'So have you.' the blonde took her in her arms, Melara patted her back.

Jeyne did not lose a moment, 'your dress is absolutely beautiful!'

Melara twirled slowly, a little smile on her lips. 'Father took in a woman from the Three Sisters, she altered some of my dresses.'

Cersei took the liberty of grasping some of the tissue of one of Melara's sleeves, to touch the small orange stars embroidered. 'It's excellent, there's not one loose thread.' 

Melara extracted herself from Cersei's grasp, walking to the tea table that had been set up. 

'If that's only a touch up, I cannot wait to see what gowns she'll create for you,' said Jeyne as she sat down beside her. 

The Hetherspoon girl flushed. 'You'd see her gowns, they are so unique!'

Jeyne's eyes sparkled. 'I'm curious now, we must meet her.'

'I thought of bringing her, but I was afraid we might be a bore for her…'

'She's your servant Melara, you do not have to entertain her,' spoke Cersei with a flat voice.

Jeyne and Melara inadvertently made eye contact for half a second, after so long, Melara was not sure if she could read Cersei as well as she used to. 

'Of course,' she retorted, 'but I like her so that I don't have the heart of imposing her hours alone while us three are off running around…'

'We are closer to being women than children, there will no more be running around and I'm sure Septa Saranella will be pleased to have some company,' replied Cersei, bringing her teacup to her lips. For a moment, Melara supposed that her friend looked like a dignified lady, so much like the late Lady Joanna Lannister.

Melara looked down at herself, 'I suppose we are growing up, I just didn't expect it to be so…tumultuous, to say the least.' 

Jeyne caught up immediately, a small gasp escaping her lips, 'You had your first bleeding, did you?'

Melara looked around them, but not even a bird could be seen throughout the space. 

'How painful was it for you? I barely could stand up on the first day,' admitted Jeyne. 

Melara and Cersei turned to her, eyebrows shot up. 

'When did you have them?' asked Melara.

The Farman girl pondered, 'Same time about last year, if I recall.' 

Melara nodded in understanding while Cersei set her cup down on the table. 

'Well, you both forestalled me,' jested the blonde, a playful smirk gracing her lips. 'It's no surprise, both of you are older than me…'

Jeyne frowned as she reached for a spoon and the small jar of honey, 'Melara is the youngest of us three.'

Cersei sent an inquisitive look her way, but Melara knew she was holding herself from scowling. 

'I was born four moons later than you, Jeyne is nearly a year older than us,' explained Melara.

Cersei remained quiet the rest of their teatime, replying, nodding when necessary, and Jeyne and Melara silently agreed to let her be. The Lannister only came out of her shell again when Jaime rushed to meet them, or rather, his twin. 

Nearly thirteen, and they were still glued to each other, Melara could not tell if it was abnormal, her brother had been dead for far too long, and of course, they were not twins. 

In a rushed manner, Jaime greeted her and Jeyne before being dragged inside by his sister. 

Left alone, Jeyne finally spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper, 'I'm so glad you've come, they've been like this for so long…' Jeyne took a moment, weighing her words, 'I feel quite unwanted in their company.'

Melara's lips corners tugged upward for a moment, 'They are like that, but I do wonder… Are most siblings this way?'

'I'm not that clingy toward my siblings, nor have I seen such a case. Maybe twins are just like that?'

Melara did not press the matter, 'maybe…'

When her friend got too lost in her thoughts, Jeyne picked a flower nearby and handed it to her, 'A pansy for your thought?' 

Melara smiled, taking it and twirling the pansy in between her fingers. 

'It's just that everything's changing, so fast, but also… Nothing is? I'm the one changing, but everyone else stays the same. All pristine, acting as if nothing happened. One accident turned my life upside down!' her voice grew higher until her lips were trembling.

Jeyne pursed her lips for a moment before taking Melara in her arms. 'I have not known grief, but I know you'll get through this, if it gets ever too frustrating, come to me.' 

Melara let herself cry on Jeyne's shoulder, quietly thanking her for her kindness.

The sound of small steps broke their little bubble, both of them turned to the source of it. 

A little blond boy with streaks of black, no taller than a small pile of apples, stared at them. They immediately recognised the four years old Lannister. In the years of their friendship with Cersei, they saw the boy on very rare occasions, as if he were a ghost within his own family. His first crime being a dwarf, then his second, indirectly causing Lady Joanna’s death.

‘Hello, Tyrion,’ greeted Melara, wiping her tears away and plastering a grin onto her face. 

The boy only stared further, but he did get closer.

Jeyne poured tea in a cup, ‘Would you like to join us?’ 

Upon seeing the biscuits, Tyrion headed straight to the chair, and without missing a beat, Jeyne helped him get on it. Melara placed the plates full of sweet pastries before the boy.

‘Why are you sad?’

'Because of my mother,’ confessed Melara, ‘she’s gone.’

‘My mother’s gone too,’ let out Tyrion, biting into one of the scones. 

‘I’m sorry for it, everyone should get the chance to know their parents,’ told Melara. 

Tyrion looked down to the table, reaching for his cup and sipping from it. 

Jeyne and Melara shared a glance to each other, unsure what to do to entertain the youngest Lannister. Melara drew his attention back in, 'What have you done this week?'

The boy put his cup down, black and green eyes lost in thought. 'I played…and looked at books.'

'You can already read?' asked Melara, her voice and face not concealing the fact that she was impressed, Jeyne seemed surprised too beside her.

Tyrion flushed, he shook his head, 'I recognise words...' 

Melara grinned widely, 'For now, that's more than good.'

Interruption was in fashion in their little meeting. Howbeit,  it was most unexpected when Lord Tywin Lannister walked in on the small trio. His tall figure towered them, it was hard to ignore a man of his stature, and his composed self only intimidated them further. 

His pale green eyes passed between the three of them, as if the scene itself was bizarre, while the three younglings stared at him as if he were a rare specimen. It took a moment for Melara to hit her, Jeyne subtly nudged Melara as she stood up from her seat and curtsied before him to greet him properly, Melara followed close behind. 

The man stared at her face for a bit, before his eyes scanned the courtyard once again. 

'Where are Jaime and Cersei?' 

Melara and Jeyne shared a look.

'Cersei brought him back inside, my lord,' announced Melara. 

His eyes narrowed, his voice unforgiving, 'Where inside?'

The girl shifted before him, 'We do not know, they left in haste.'

And just as quickly, barely nodding in acknowledgement, Tywin Lannister marched back toward the door, without giving any mind to his third child as his figure disappearing back inside. 

'Whatever was that ?' whispered Jeyne. 

Melara shrugged, still watching the corridor the three Lannisters had disappeared to. 

Tyrion continued eating his pastries, oblivious to what had transpired. 

Chapter Text

Tywin Lannister no longer saw the Rock as his home. No longer since Joanna died. 

Rocks, bricks, soiled by one laughing lion, his father believed respect would come from his name only.  A foolish man, his father was.

It took him a tremendous amount of time and blood to bring it back to its original shine. 

Spilling their traitors' life essence was all it took for everyone to recall who to fear. 

Yet, his wife made a point to remind him that they all withered, and the legacy he built will all last and stand tall. Not his second son, however. He barely managed to look the boy in the eye. He had hoped for it to die early, to culminate the tragedy that hit his family. Weren't the greatest names victims of incommensurable sad fates? 

Although, he thought bitterly, that it would just be another lady buried with her dead babe, he sometimes found himself hoping that this little thing would do great things on his own, to be anything less would be the most insulting. Oh, did he hate it. He thought about abandoning the thing more than once, but his blood was too precious to be spilled. 

Oh, the things he did for pride.

He only needed Jaime to measure up to his own name and blood. 

He only needed Cersei to be queen. 

And once again, fate laughed at the lion. 

Jaime was again evading his maester sooner than he should, and Aerys would not hear him about Cersei.

A servant, he said. Tywin sneered as he marched within his castle. 

The king would see reason, he would not stoop so low as to marry the crown prince with a Martell, he did not. The Princess of Dorne paraded her children throughout Westeros to look for a match. Tywin needed not. 

Now, even Cersei evaded her guests. He supposed he could not hold it against her if the boy went to her. 

It was such a sight, seeing him sitting beside the Hetherspoon and Farman girls. 

Quite ridicule. 

He clenched his fist. How disconcerting it felt to see the Hetherspoon girl. 

Melara.

Years ago, she was just a faceless sheep. 

Now, he could see how clear could have it all if she played her cards right, and could lose it all if she was just a foolish girl waiting for love. She'd do best to find a match before her fifteen's birthday, before all the little lords and sers come back from their training years and their parents have found the best match. She would be far from the lions' paws. 

He allowed her to stay so long by Cersei's side thanks to Septa Sorinella calling her the most pious of maiden she's seen in her tutoring years. 

She had been a good influence on Cersei, after all.

He would have to ask her father to keep her away from Cersei when they would have valuable guests. It would be for her own good. 

He owed Tamora this much. He almost could have called her a friend. 

If Melara was growing to be anything like her mother as it seemed to be, she would be too sublime for her own good. 

If she caused any problems, it would be no issue to find her an insignificant boy outside his lands.

Tywin found it all the more amusing, how tragedy worked. The girl had no idea what was whispered about her, how curious the faithful were, if not of her then, her mother. 

While his wife's memory was left to him only. 

What else could Tybolt Hetherspoon offer his wife if not mere prayers? 

Tywin could make an altar, gardens, monuments, and it would be all for Joanna. 

The devout destitutes liked to utter the name of Tamora and Melara in the wind. It will all remain a myth contained within the slums of the city. 

He was searching for his twins, his two perfect children. 

Tywin had to scold them for failing at their duties. 

A red tapestry caught his attention, it was the very last one Joanna commanded. 

A maiden surrounded by four lions. He had laughed at her for it, lions covered every inch of this castle and yet she chose this. 

A giggle came from it.

Then, another.

Tywin knew them all too much. He heard them on the few suppers he had with these two perfect children, he had watched them show such complicity. None he possessed with his own siblings, nor ever witnessed within others. 

They were unique. Tywin and Joanna's children.

The giggles all came from behind that same thin tapestry. 

And, he almost wished to surprise them–

Mayhap, he breathed too loudly, maybe it was voluntary, because it all came to a stop. 

He almost grasped the tapestry, it would not have taken even seconds to just grab it and yank it to reveal what was behind. 

Instead, he quietly walked away. His soles made of sheep skins had made no sound against the stones and continued as such. 

He ignored the movement within the fabric. 

It must have been a childish game. 

Chapter Text

Those days, the lions were confusing Melara to no end. 

Albeit, it was nothing next to her bouts of reverie that led her to lose some great amount of time or the dreams, insignificant or awful, that brought her to exhaustion in the morning. 

Sometimes, they were as clear as day, she'd see someone she knows and their mishap, like when Gwen ruined her soup and she'd curse. It felt like a mere sensation of reliving, so easy to dismiss. Until a peculiar rush overcame her when she watched a squire of her father standing too close to the edge of the wooden deck above the training ground. Just like in her dream, he lost balance, and she was only a step away from pulling him back up.

The incident went unnoticed, after all, it was not life-threatening. But, she did wonder what could be the limits? Could she even choose what to see? Were the visions meant for her at all? Were they for her to change? 

Imogen said nothing about the bags under her eyes, or her sudden quietness, but she did keep an eye on her at all times. Even if she meant well, Melara felt as though the walls of the keep were closing in on her, and Casterly Rock no longer felt welcoming. At first, she found that walking around Lannisport soothed her a bit, until the stares and whispers were too heavy and loud. She’d found safety from the ordeal in the Sept where she’d lit a candle for her mother.

Then, a mad thought brought her to action, a speck of dust next to the king's madness if the streets were to be believed. 

On her last trip, accompanied by Imogen, Melara found a way to divert the young woman away from her just enough time. 

She gave Imogen a lengthy list of errands, of which the woman looked put out by. 

‘Don’t fret about me, I’ll remain at the Sept,’ reassured Melara.

Imogen still seemed reticent but accepted nonetheless.  But not until she made sure that the girl under her care was inside the grand walls of the Sept. 

Melara thought that she had a good hour, if not more, for herself.

After five minutes spent looking at the candles’ wax melt down and at the golden statues of the Seven, Melara lit one single candle, her flame reflecting on the Mother’s eyes of gold. 

‘Do forgive me, Mother.’

Melara left the Sept, head down, hopefully unnoticed. 

She started retracing the same steps she took nearly a year ago. She had to go back where her plight first began. The ounce of hesitation she felt vanished as soon it appeared when she came across an old begging brother preaching about miracles near the slums of the city.

It did not take her as much time as she thought it would, she was already stepping onto the woods. 

She looked down at her feet, mindful of her every step, every possible hole dug into the ground.

Melara found it funny that she was looking out for that one well , but she couldn’t tell one from another, even if she tried to recall with all her might. 

The hut was still there, untouched, with a small effort of camouflage. Before the doubts could sneak on her, Melara walked into the witch’s small house.

Only, this time, she knocked on the wood. 

From the noises coming from inside, relief washed over her, she hadn’t made it all this way for naught. 

The woman let her in, if she was surprised, she let none of it show. Small scars littered around her eyes, and she recalled that Cersei had thrown her a jar in the face. Melara winced. 

‘I’m sorry,’ she let out as soon as she walked in.

Maggy laughed. ‘For trespassing? For your friend or for yourself?’

‘For our conduct, we should not have come to you and my friend should not have acted this way. I’m sorry.’

‘And?… I thought you’d come sooner, but I did not see apologies coming along,' Maggy sat down by the table, on which herbs and flowers were scattered around.

‘I was busy burying my mother,’ said defensively Melara.

‘It tends to happen,’ Maggy pointed at the chair beside her, 'I won't accept your apologies, they are not for you to make.'

Melara hesitated, but she still took the seat.

'What you said that night, none of it turned true.’

The witch's lips turned upward, as she drew a knife, leaving Melara a bit restless until the woman started cutting anemones and marigolds from their stems. 'Half of it was, but you see, foresight plays tricks, and nothing's ever destined.'

'So you saw my death… But, I survived?'

'You could say that, maybe you died and gods had mercy,' sang the witch, feeling light-hearted and smiling at the girl as if she had a secret about her that she had no idea about. 

Melara jumped on the occasion.

'My mother. What happened to her?' 

Maggy stopped her motions immediately.

'She made the choice to save you.'

The girl took a sharp breath.

'How?'

'A life for a life, that's how it works,' the witch placed both of her cold hands on each side of Melara's face as the weight of her words sank into the girl's mind, 'Don't be so horrified, a mother's sacrifice is a precious thing.'

The girl's eyes were glistening in tears. 'I- Can I trust you?'

Maggy's eyes ran across Melara's face. '

'You've given me no reasons to see you as a foe.'

She leaned away from her grasp. 

'What would?'

'Threatening me, for a start,' the witch resumed her chopping. Melara dared not to speak of Cersei. 

Melara pondered in silence, could she speak to her? The witch had more to lose if she were to be the one with a loose tongue, but then, what could even happen to her if she did speak of what she would confess here and now? 

'I dream. I dreamt of things that would come true, of things that are happening. I'm not sure if I'm even myself when I do,' a noise outside distracted Melara, she feared for a moment that they might not be alone, but a bird's croak reassured her right away. 'Am I becoming mad?'

Maggy, with a wooden and sturdy spoon, started to crush the marigolds in a golden bowl.

'No, little one. You're blossoming into something. Powerful or woebegone, magic knows no bound.' 

'Either way, I was cursed,' jabbed Melara.

Maggy did not spare her a glance, nearly bored, 'Only time will tell.' 

Melara fell once again into silence, unsure if she wanted to hear any more of the answers to her questions.

'And did you? Tell Anyone?'

The witch put down her knife, reached for an empty jar. 'When a red moon appeared and a mother gave away her life for her child, I sang the song all the way to the slums.'

'Why?' inquired Melara, brows knitted. 

Anemones were slowly filling up the jar to the rim, a colourful mix of windflowers whose petals stuck to the not so dry surfaces of the recipient.

'That lord, he won't like a miracle in his lands,' Maggy used her spoon to push in the flowers to make up some space, 'you'll find this will give you protection too.'

The little dame watched her, curious.

'My safety… I've done nothing to warrant good meaning wishes from you, what do you have to gain?' 

The witch smiled, cheeks tauted. 'Everything,' she handed Melara two flowers, a red anemone and a marigold of a bright bronze hue, 'Do you know their meaning?'

Melara watched the flowers that had been put delicately onto her palms. They had a lot of meanings, which one was the right one? 

A red anemone, itself, had different significations, from forsaken love to devotion, but it had one thing in common with the marigolds: passion and protection.

Melara huffed. 'I'll need strength for what's to come?' 

'Plenty of it. I can't tell you more, but your success also means my safety, Melara.' 

The girl stood up, meaning to leave until Maggy caught her wrist.

'An advice, little lady, don't suppress it, you can't run away from such powers.'

Melara gently pulled her wrist out of her grasp. 'I'm not a lady, I’m a dame, and I will if such powers are the reason I lost my mother.'

Maggy only watched her intently, and for a moment, Melara thought the woman had gone to some place deep in her mind.

Just right when she was about to take a step toward the exit, the witch declared, ‘when you are ready for the truth, seek the godswood. It’ll show you why life and death are a balance,' Maggy grasped her forearm, tighter this time, 'remember, there is a start and an end to your doom.'

Melara left without another word, the witch's words still ringing in her ears. That did not stop her from being vigilant, to the woods surrounding her and the holes in the ground that once attempted to pull her to the Stranger. 

When she was once again within the walls of the city, she ran back to the Sept, in a vain hope to have the time to confess to the Seven that she had been fraternising with the impious. The two flowers crushed in her hand were the sole trace of her wander. 

What had she been thinking? 

However, she managed to arrive mere seconds before Imogen, and she knew that her cheeks looked as red as the anemone in her fist. The servant watched her, a glint of suspicion, she did not utter a word to Melara's only pleasure and relief.

'Shall we go home?' 

Imogen nodded in approval, her arms overtaken by the groceries until Melara took some herself. Unbeknownst to Melara, a crow and a turtle-dove flew high above them all the way to their keep.

In the dead of night, when the Hetherspoon's manor-house had long gone quiet and the crows stopped flying, Melara kept to her bed, where visions plagued her mind. 

The banners of the Darklyn, 

A bloody tortured king, petty and mad,

His dead hand, with her father's corpse decaying underneath the gold beast. 

The blood and the pain had her screaming in her restless slumber, until she recognised the quiet voice of her father. 

'Wake up, it's just a nightmare,' he repeated, rocking the half-awake girl in her arms until Melara was completely pulled from the walls of her mind. 

Her shaking form took solace in Tybolt's warm embrace, crying on his shoulder. 

It was not, she thought, she remained in his arms, her father was going to die.

He was all that she had left in the world, and he would be taken away from her.

'You're safe, here, my little girl,' he whispered in her ears as he watched her fear stricken face under the moonlight. 

She will save him.

He rocked her back and forth as she grasped onto him and refused to let him go in the dead of night. 

Chapter Text

Tywin Lannister had arrived from King's Landing only less than three moons after his last departure, and with him, the rumours of the reasons why. Another rift between a king and his hand, although the cause baffled Melara. 

House Darklyn, or rather its head, Lord Denis Darklyn of Duskendale appealed for King Aerys to be able to levy his own port fees and taxes, in lower amounts than in King's Landing along with special rights for the citizens of Duskendale. The grander issue being, they refused to pay their taxes until their requirements were met. And, such small defiance, especially when it teared a hole in their pockets, would never go unpunished. 

Imogen, with a bowl of fresh water by her hip, walked up the stairs of the Hetherspoon keep. Should she have the little dame's hair up or down? The moment Melara told her she let her have free rein over it, Imogen had started a habit of picking up some flowers that grew outside by the kitchens' walls to put in her hair, to make up for the lack of jewellery. As she neared the door of the young Hetherspoon's chamber, she could hear some shuffle.

The servant noticed the little dame's odd behaviour over the last few weeks. 

What could she be so scared about? 

Ever since their last outing in Lannisport, the girl was secretive. Imogen still remembered being thirteen, nothing should warrant this much fear, could it be about a boy? 

It was not impossible, after all, she remained unchaperoned plenty of times. 

Then, Imogen feared that a man might have taken advantage or intimidated the girl. She swallowed her guilt down, Melara was waiting for her on her bed. 

It brought Imogen back to that one morning days ago, and she had looked as if she'd been awake the whole night. Imogen's worries did not lessen as she demanded that she send a letter to her cousin Claudia.

'We should have received a reply by now, isn't that right?' asked Melara. 

'Good morning, Dame Melara,' started Imogen while she set the bowl on the table along with the small daisies, a slight smile upon her lips as Melara crossed her arms with a grave air. 

'Good morning, was the harvest good this morning?' she inquired as she glanced at the flowers. Imogen nodded and waited for the girl to go through her toilet.

'If I may… Your questions were peculiar to say the least, would they compromise Claudia?' 

'I need only to know how the servants are feeling at Duskendale, they can't incriminate her for sharing her anxieties with her kin. I doubt that she would be too loose in her writing either. However, time's pressing.' 

By then, Melara finished cleaning herself, she dried herself before she walked behind her wooden screen and slipped on the gown that Imogen had laid out for her, only stepping before the young woman for her to tie it all close. 

Imogen questioned her further. 'What do you hope to hear from her?' 

Melara sighed. 'A lot. She's under Lady Serala's employ, there's no way she's not heard of crucial information.'

'Why would you need to know these things?' 

'A bad feeling, that's all I can say.' 

Imogen frowned, her fingers stilled in her work of fastening the strings. The girl was doing this much to quell her worries? It sounded ridiculous, yet, maybe not unwarranted. Tybolt Hetherspoon might not have been an influential, or very wealthy knight, but he had the advantage of being in proximity to the Warden of the West's keep and his family, and when the man was present, Tybolt travelled back and forth to the Rock. Melara might, and could, have heard something. 

Now, the letter Imogen kept hidden in the pocket of her skirt felt heavy against her. 

She had not read it herself, it arrived at the cockcrow. 

Perhaps, it would be wiser for her to read it first-hand. After all, she had written and signed the first correspondence for her dame. 

Melara glanced above her shoulder and noticed Imogen's preoccupied air. 

'What is it, Imogen?'

'Can you promise me that no harm will come to Claudia?'

Melara's eyes widened slightly, brows rising up as well, the girl turned toward Imogen, taking her hands in between hers. 

'I promise, and I'll do everything in my power for her to join you here.' 

The sincerity coming from the girl reassured Imogen, she sighed and dug her hand in her own skirt, pulling out the prized paper.

Melara wasted no seconds, nearly snatching the thing out of her hand. 

Letter opened, the answer was shorter than anticipated, the handwriting hastened too, a stark difference to Imogen's and her elegant letters. Albeit of no noble or wealthy blood, Imogen claimed they were taught how to write and read as her mother made sure of giving them the privilege of literacy. 

Melara's eyes moved at a dizzying speed on the parchment. 

Melara pondered for a moment, eyes still on the letter.

'So,' started Imogen, 'What will you do with that?'

She was challenging her, and she intently watched the girl, expectations lying underneath her dark eyes. 

'I believe that I have a visit to conduct.' 

Imogen frowned.

Melara continued, 'Have you heard of the Rains of Castamere?'

'I know the song, indeed.'

The girl's lip corner twitched, her glassy eyes made her shudder, and there was something sinister about her as she spoke those words. 

'I fear it will happen again.'

Her charge, just barely thirteen, frightened her sometimes. She was petrifying, now. 

Imogen finished preparing Melara in silence. 

The girl marched to her father's office.

Their keep was near empty except for three guards making rounds every three hours, the most that they could fear was a wild animal that threaded too close out of the woods. 

Unbeknownst to her, devout followers of the Faith strayed from the city in an attempt to look for the miracle girl, Hetherspoon's men would redirect them in the opposite direction.

Melara found her father sitting in his office, staring down at his desk. She slowly walked up to him as he remained lost in thought. She cast a look at the object of interest. 

A letter with the Lannister’s wax seal.

‘Bad news?’

Ser Tybolt startled before relaxing upon seeing his daughter. 

‘Could become so.’

His daughter put her letter on his desk before sitting down in front of him.

‘I come bearing other news.’

Tybolt’s brows rose up, he observed his daughter for a long second, Melara showed no sign of nervousness nor seemed in any alert.

She looked so much like Tamora, when she did her best to look unfazed at all times and in any sorts of situations.

'It concerns Duskendale.' 

Her father's head whipped around. 'What else?'

She gave him the letter, she had thought of re-writing a new one to conceal Imogen's involvement, but the two girls thought that it might be even more dreadful if they were to falsify such important intel. Melara would have to vouch for her servant's sake. 

She sat down opposite him. 

Tybolt's eyes scrolled down the content of the letters.

Confusion, then consternation oversaw his features. He seemed a bit furious with her, nothing that she hadn't foreseen, even without dreaming. 

'Imogen's cousin works under Lady Serala.'

'Does not matter much, I wonder how you could have known– to even think about asking… You're lucky that this girl was not spied upon, she would have never sent you this letter, nor any others to her kin.'

'I understand that you're angry, but what if the king is in danger? Didn't you say he intended to accept their invitation? And they are receiving provisions to last what could be more than two years at a time. It can only mean that they're expecting an attack, or a retaliation.'

Tybolt set the letter down, burying his face in his hands. 

He should be proud, to know that his daughter listened to him well. However, that was doing too much. She could be too much, at times.

'You should not worry about such matters, especially at your age.' 

Melara frowned, barely stopping herself from heaving a sigh. 'But I do. And, idle messages between cousins reveal this much, nothing you or our liege lord should dismiss, don't you think?' 

Tybolt observed her again, eyes flicking between the letter and the girl in an orange dress with small daisies in her hair. His daughter was growing up far too quickly for him. 

He knew she was right, too.

'I'll ask for an audience,' conceded Tybolt. 

'Let me accompany you, father. If he ends up marching to Duskendale, I must request protection for Claudia,' before her father could cut her off, she added, 'She gave vital intel, has she not?'

Tybolt let out a loud sigh, leaning back on his chair. 

'If you insist.'  

That same night, she truly tried, with a mighty mind and a lot of tossing, to see what could happen. Yet, as if the second she made the effort to see anything, only a dreamless night would be bestowed upon her. 

That was what made the difference between a gift and a curse even the more clearer. 

The following morning, Melara woke and sought Imogen to prepare her, hours before the first rays of sunshine could seep inside their household. She feared that her father might've found justification for going to the Rock without her. 

He had yielded far too quickly to her request. 

Freshened up and ready for the day, she realised as soon as she walked into their dinner hall that it had been very much her father's plan. 

Melara squinted her eyes his way, he evaded her stare by rolling his eyes as he gulped down the content of his cup. The girl remained upright, watching him finish his breakfast. 

She forestalled him and ate in her bedroom an hour ago. 

As soon as he put his fork down, she raised an eyebrow. 'Shall we?'

Tybolt was not a man of words, especially in the morning, he directed his gaze toward his daughter and did not bother to hide his annoyance. Nonetheless, he stood up and did not object to her company as they got into the carriage. 

Facing Tywin Lannister for an audience was, unsurprisingly, nerve wracking.

Her father did not seem any more comfortable than she was, but they both stood tall in the hall of Casterly Rock. The Lord Hand, sitting high on a heavily-crafted golden seat, looked down, graver than he ever looked since Lady Joanna's death. 

Never had the hall looked so stern and made her feel so small, all this despite the sun hitting the stained-glass windows and casting golden and red shadows on the stone floor. She would have admired a bit more had she not forced her eyes away.

There were few outside of them. Knights of houses Clegane, Serett, and Lorch were posted by Lannister's side and the entrance. 

Younger sons surely, some more frightening than others as she watched the monstrous height of that Clegane boy. 

They did not matter at the moment, only one person in this room had to be convinced, and it was the same man who would slay an entire house and sack an entire city if need be. 

Tywin Lannister cocked an eyebrow as his eyes fell on her. 

A call for mercy, that was why she was here. 

Tybolt bowed and Melara curtsied.

'My Lord,' started her father, letter in hand, 'I'll be plain with you. I believe you must be informed of this correspondence between my daughter's servant and her cousin who works in Duskendale,' he walked up the small steps to give the piece of parchment to Tywin, 'Lady Serala's employ to be more precise.' 

The man took the paper, casting yet again a pointed look at Melara, he did not understand her presence here even if it involved her personal maid and he slightly resented the foolish Tybolt for probably giving in to his daughter's whims. 

Still, Tywin read the letter carefully.

Dear Imogen, 

It warms my heart to know that your mistress is growing up to be a kind woman. I would love to meet her one day and to see you flourish in her household. I've been doing well, albeit, our food is being rationed on the account that food shortages are expected, yet, if the cooks' word are to be trusted, and they have never said anything false in the time of our acquaintances, they have received nearly a ton of provisions for the fortress alone and explanations are vehemently denied to us. 

It is worrisome, and I believe that I'm not the only one who wishes to leave. If I could, I would join you in the Westerlands in an instant but, I fear it is not the right time. 

My Lady is restless and has wreaked havoc once already when another of her maid fled a fortnight ago. 

I hope this letter found you well and that we will see each other again soon enough.

Your dearest cousin,

Claudia

Tywin leaned back in his chair, his eyes fixated on the Hetherspoon man. 'When did you receive it?'

'Yesterday, my Lord.' 

Lannister pressed the palms of his hands against the extremities of his armrests, carved as lions heads. 'You should have come to me as soon as you got your hands on it.' 

Tybolt bowed, 'Apologies for my negligence, my Lord.' 

The man scoffed but did not give any more comment, until his eyes fell on the girl again. 'Why did you bring her?' 

Melara stepped up and spoke before her father could open his mouth. 

'I have a request, my Lord.' 

Tywin flicked his hand, barely lifting it from the armrest. Melara nodded, 'I plead for mercy on behalf of Claudia Oswald. I'll vouch for her, if need be.' 

The man looked nearly amused, if she could assume that the glint in his eyes were not a fruit of her imagination, 'What makes you think that she would need mercy?' 

The girl observed the Lord for a moment, only unsure of herself for a beat before standing a bit taller.

'Do you intend to stand by, even with this letter in your possession?' 

Melara heard some shifting around her.

Tywin leaned forward in his chair, those cold eyes of his on her, sharp and unforgiving. 

'This matter will be looked into, with trustworthy ears, wise minds and experienced men.' 

Melara bit her tongue before smiling. 

She felt her father's hand on her shoulder, and she curtsied.

One daisy floated down her hair, it delicately fell on the floor.

Slowly, she walked out of the room, the doors closed on her as soon as she passed the threshold. 

Chapter Text

Melara remained before the hall's doors, she didn't have anything else to do if not watch a stream of military men come inside the hall, the heavy wooden doors opening and slamming shut. Two knights guarded it, never did their gaze ever wander elsewhere than a spot above her head. 

Her tense silence was pierced by the coming of Cersei and Jeyne. 

The girls called after her, and with one last look at the doors. Melara sighed, even if she remained posted here, she would not know what went on inside…

Cersei knew that something was going on. There must be, her uncle Kevan was hectic, even Jaime had pointed it out. It was a more than common occurrence for their father Tywin to be ignoring them in his office. 

She found Melara pacing by the Rock's Hall, doors shut and guarded. 

Her friend, clad in a pale blue dress that she guessed was made by that mysterious maid of hers, seemed lost in her head, like so many times since that night they must never speak of ever again. Cersei was lucky that her friend did not remember much, nor could she guess her role in her dreadful condition. She would have felt more guilty if Melara had not revealed herself to be a traitorous silly girl who set her eyes on what did not belong to her.

Melara knew better her place these days, but still remained far from being a bore like Jeyne.  

That was why Cersei kept her close enough, she would not allow Melara to drift away so easily.

Jeyne already was by Melara's side, while Cersei couldn't care less about her, a small rage churned inside her guts at the feeling of being overlooked.

Jeyne led the girls to one of the drawing rooms, while servants fetched them beverages and pastries. Cersei said nothing of it, it was one of their habits, and it was too windy outdoors. She narrowed her eyes at the girl nonetheless. Not that they noticed.

Jeyne was too busy coaxing answers from a thoughtful Melara. 

They sat around the chimney, a very low fire lit up to warm the cold dark tiles of the room. It was one of the most luxurious of their rooms, divans made of dark wood and of the softest red silks, the three had agreed that the view it offered was the best of the castle. 

Melara used to love sitting by the window sill. 

'A letter, you say?', asked Cersei, her attention truly tuning to the girls. 

Melara turned to her, as if she was noticing Cersei only now. When she stared at her like that, Cersei could pinpoint what she hated most about her. There was always a hint of defiance in her eyes. It was all the more satisfying when Melara yielded to her wants. Furthermore, it had not happened since a while ago, maybe Melara was avoiding her? Or had she grown tired of Melara? 

When she would be queen, she could not afford a traitress in her circle. But then, it would only take a little push to be truly rid of her.

'Your father is in possession of it now, they are assessing it now.' 

'Don't be ashamed if they don't deem it as enough proof,' mused the blond girl. 

Jeyne shifted slightly, 'A lot of lords and knights have gone to the Great Hall, I'm sure they must be preparing something.'

'They are,' said Melara, sure of herself.  

With the tip of her fingers, Cersei felt the golden threads of the lion embroidery on the cushion, 'My father will make a sensible decision, as always.' 

Melara barely looked at her when she said, ‘I’m sure he will.’ 

Jeyne sat down by Melara’s side, eyes filled with mild worry. She turned to a chessboard left on one of the nearest tables.

‘We can only wait either way, shall we play?’

A moment of silence set in before Melara voiced her agreement. 

Pastries and tea came around at the same time, they served themselves with small strawberry tarts before arranging the chessboard.

Jeyne and Melara played first, and despite Jeyne’s efforts of prolonging the game by keeping any confrontations between their pawns at bay the longest time possible. Melara let her take her queen. Cersei and she switched seats for the next play. 

While Jeyne and Cersei placed back their pawns to their rightful places, Melara lost herself in the observation of the pieces' dark wood.  

Her thoughts drifted once again to the meeting taking place not so far from them, unbeknownst to anyone, she was barred from hearing of her father's fate. Maybe she rushed him to his death and all of that had been pointless. There must have been other ways, she thought, foolishness took over her, she might have slapped herself if she'd been all alone in the room. She could have given him something to remain abed, something just enough for him to be useless in the battlefield, but not quite to doom him. 

All herbs that she had the knowledge of that could perhaps pull off such a fit were far from easy to acquire. she'd have to spend all of her allowance, especially if she were to send someone to discreetly buy them. 

No, the possibility of stopping the king being captured at all was the only one she could count on.

Melara felt a weight inside her throat, and the burning feeling in her eyes threatened to spill. While her friends kept to their game, she swiftly advanced to the window sill. Leaving in her wake, daisies on the stones. The window gave way to a magnificent view of the sea, she had not got close to it in months. 

Melara thought that she developed a fear of heights, the water she was not sure yet. The fresh marine breeze bit her face and messed with some strands of her hair, she had not felt this much at peace since…. The incident. 

A chill shook her, somnolence lulled her and took over her limbs. Melara sat down and leaned against the stone pillar, its curves digging into her spine. A bird flew above the water, twirling around before diving in, the dark creature reached again for the sky with a fish in between his beak. Melara felt herself relax against the cold stone, feeling the smooth marble on her cheek. She tried to keep her eyes open, but none of her will would do. 

Then, she felt as light as a feather. 

Mere seconds were enough this time for her to understand what was occurring. 

It felt strange to see herself from a foreign view, from the eyes of the Father's creature. And indeed, was it her sleeping in that very room. 

She was alarmed by the whites of her eyes, but, upon closer look, she was breathing, and Jeyne and Cersei paid her no mind. 

Being a bird was exhilarating. She flapped its wings, dark blue feathers stroked by the sea air. 

She dived and reached for the skies again. 

Her eyes were sharper, her hearing, too.  Upon such realisation, she rotated its body to spin around the tower they were located in. 

She continued to beat her wings as she flew before the familiar golden and red stained-glass, a lion with its gaping maw stood tall on the window, shining in all of its glory under the blazing sun. 

The Father was good today, she found one of the windows opened, the door left ajar, just enough for her to nestle in. Perhaps, it had been left open on purpose to keep the place light and airy. 

As slight and unremarkable as she could ever be, she remained seated. 

She watched Tywin Lannister accomplish the prowess of never being caught unawares. To Melara, he even looked bored as his vassals lined up in the grand room. 

Her eyes skimmed through the small crowd to find her father. Tybolt remained the nearest to their liege lord, he backed down and stood at the last step, only one foot propped up to the next. 

'We should not wait, at all, my Lord,' he turned to other lords and knights, seeking some support, 'It is precious and crucial time that is being spent here instead of riding to the crownlands.'

'My Lord…' started Lord Clegane, pleading to Tywin, 'You cannot mean to send a full regiment to Duskendale upon the word of a-' he made a show of his sneer as he turned to Tybolt once again, ' servant ?'

Lannister rubbed his growing sideburns, he did not utter a word, but he seemed to think Clegane's argument convenient enough. 

Melara's mind burned with fleeting images of her father's corpse. Rage filled her veins and dangerous thoughts swarmed. The worst of it was to think that perhaps, Tywin did not want to rescue the king, he certainly had his burgeoning reasons yet, they mattered not. 

Waiting for the king's capture only brought her father closer to the Stranger. 

Maybe she would have to lightly poison him to save him, after all.

The hoarse voice of Everett Lorch cut her thoughts short, 'If his Majesty is in dire danger, such small evidence should be enough to send us to investigate!' 

Some roar of approval resounded across the hall. 

Hetherspoon and Lorch exchanged nods.

Tywin hit his hand once against his armrest to regain some silence, he prevented Clegane from speaking again. 

'I see that you are all very concerned and willing to travel to Duskendale without delay, that will have a cost, I'm sure you know, especially upon such little notice. My question is,' Lannister stood up and rounded the table to step down the steps, he stopped before her father. 'Ser Hetherspoon, are you willing to pay the price? Was that girl under the Myrrish lady's thumb even aware of that ploy of yours?'

Melara would have laughed if she could, a meek croak came out of her beak. 

'My daughter was aware of the circumstances, she saw this contact as a sign. The servant is clueless. I trust Melara and her desire to be good, so yes, I stand by her and if all of this turns out to be useless, I'll make atonement to you,' said Tybolt, without an ounce of doubt. 

Tywin assessed the man for a moment, hard eyes on his knight, before nodding. 'I hope for you that your daughter is as astute as she is spirited.' 

Tybolt lowered his head, hoping that the matter was closed then. 

The Lord Hand walked past him, passing through his vassals, all of whom parted to clear the warden’s path, as he made his way to the doors. 'Gather as many men as you can, we ride at the break of day.' 

The lords and knights followed him out, and in mere seconds, the crow had the hall all to itself. 

Flying back to the drawing room, Melara found herself, still, white-eyed and unresponsive, by the window sill, a surge of panic came about as she did not know how to return to herself. She watched herself a few times more. 

The girls behind had left the chess game aside, Cersei was comparing Jeyne's embroidery with hers. It was only a matter of time before they checked on her.

Melara rested the bird near her still hand, and closed its eyes. 

As if strings were tangled between her fingers, she untwined them all in her mind.

The bird was set free.  

Melara blinked, her eyes were dry from staring out at the void with so much wind coming her way. She moved to turn towards her companions. Only, she whirled around a tad bit too quickly and her skirts made her unstable against the windowsill. 

One hand refrained her from making a fool of herself, or, albeit very unlikely, falling to her death. 

Her eyes travelled from the hand holding her by the fold of her elbow to its owner.  

'Since when are you here?' she asked, slowly extirpating her arm from his grasp as she gained her footing. 

Jaime raised his eyebrows her way, slightly amused. 'Mind you, I live here.'

Her arms fell down to her sides as she watched the boy with a straight-face. 

That same boy looked behind, where his sister looked over Jeyne's shoulder to marvel at her work. 

'Cersei told me you were smart, now I find you sleeping at the window's edge,' he ignored Melara's frown, 'you are making a liar of her.'

She only smiled a bit. 'She'll live.'

'And you'll thank me for saving your life?' 

His voice was barely high enough for her to hear with the wind whispering in her ears. Melara shrugged, 'A bit of a growth spurt doesn't make you a knight in shining armour, but thank you for watching out, I suppose.' 

Jaime seemed satisfied enough with himself. He spotted a small white thing in her dark hair, and without thinking over it any further, he reached his hand to one of her curls. 

Ever so slightly, His knuckles brushed against her throat, before he delicately slid the daisy off her. 

He showed it off.

'I'll take this as a token of appreciation.' 

Melara watched Jaime walk to his sister, flower twirling between his thumb and index. 

Whatever that was, it could wait. 

She made her way to the door, Cersei called for her. 

'We haven't played our round of chess, Melara.' 

The girl looked back, ready to object, but the way her friend was watching her unsettled her. Like a bird of ill omen, the gleam in Cersei's eyes showed her that there won't be any escapes today. Melara conceded, and she walked to the unoccupied chair with as much grace as she could muster. She was no dog to be ordered around, and yet Cersei’s friendship was too important for her house. So, Melara sucked in a breath.

Cersei allowed her to take the dark pawns. ‘I’ll start.’

The blonde moved her smallest pawn two squares without hesitation. Melara moved her pawn forward, placing it right before Cersei's at the centre of the board. Her friend put her knight forward, and Melara responded by advancing her pawn by one square.  

It didn't take long before the two girls gave away their significant pieces, all too focused on the other's king. 

When Cersei thought she had her, Melara moved her king behind her pawn. Now, her white king was stuck on one of the centre squares of the last line of the board. Unable to move it forward, nor sideways. 

'Stalemate,' said Jaime. From her peripheral vision, Melara watched him place the daisy in his sister's hair.

Although she was the one that cornered the girl's pawns, Melara felt defeated. 

Finally, a cacophony of footsteps resonated in the corridor. The four of them forgot about the board and made way to see for themselves the source of the ruckus. 

'I see your father,' informed Jeyne, pulling Melara by her arm. 

She had seen all of them in the hall moments prior. 

Melara pushed through, slipping out of the tea room to launch herself in the arms of her father. 'How long before you have to go?' 

'Hours,' he told her as he caressed her hair, 'I must prepare, then, we will have supper and I'll put you to bed.' 

By the side, Jeyne and the Lannister younglings, whose heads poke out of the room, watched the scene and could do nothing but wait for their moment to be put to an end by the Hetherspoon patriarch. Slowly, Tybolt parted with his daughter, he squeezed her shoulder. 

Then, his eyes moved to Melara's companions, he acknowledged them with a small bow. 'I'll let you bid your friends farewell, I'll be waiting for you outside.'

Melara could only nod. 

She felt very childish to be overtaken by fear and doubt. 

She saw him die. 

He had been as warm as the living in her embrace, but the chill she felt was everlasting. Never had the curse of foresight been so palpable. 

A matter of life and death turned into a simple flipping of a coin. 

Melara felt the prick of her friends' eyes, and so she turned around to give them a polite smile. 

As she walked down the stairs to leave with her father, her hair was free of any daisies.

Chapter Text

Supper was morbid. 

All the meat on the table, rare or done, or her father's wine, reminded her of some bloody and burning flesh. That was what it was, but, the man before her might know the same fate in a few hours time. 

He seemed all too careless before the possibility of death. Are knights all the same? 

Melara did not remember him to be such a glutton before battle, but, then, she came to the realisation that her father had not gone to battle in two years, and certainly not since her mother died. 

'Are you sure you still can swing a sword?' 

Tybolt choked on his wine. 

'Correctly, I mean.'

Her father looked appalled, 'Yes, I train other knights, should I remind you?'

Melara gave an eyeful to the table's content, they rarely had such a feast upon their table. 

'Would you recommend those squires to eat and drink like no tomorrow?' 

'It is for you, so you can remember a full table, and pleasant company.'

'You'd be my last pleasant company?'

'Do you truly have fun with the young Lannisters?'

'I do… And Jeyne is wonderful.' 

Tybolt chuckled, 'then, I have nothing to worry about.'

Melara watched her father, a grave look casting a shadow upon her features.

'Would you do me the honour of looking a bit more merry?'

She frowned, ‘Only if you stop acting as if you were having your last supper.’

'It might be the last.'

'I'd rather not.'

'Me too, my sweet.'  

Melara put down her cutlery, catching her father's attention. 

'Could you show some fight at least, just enough to reassure me that I’m not to become an orphan on the morrow.’ 

From across the table, Tybolt watched her. 

Her piercing eyes unforgiving, and her lower lip slightly shook as she tried to hold in her sobs, the fire crackling in the hearth covered the few sounds that escaped her.  

‘I’d never allow that.’

She was not convinced yet. ‘Then, don’t act like you’ve given up!’

Tybolt cocked an eyebrow. 

‘I’m not dead yet for you to be so comfortable as to raise your voice against me.’

His warning was followed by a small smile on his lips to keep the mood light. 

Melara exhaled, she felt too light-headed to try to walk out. She forced herself to swallow some of the more well-cooked meat. 

The fire covered the sounds of their teeth piercing the cooked flesh and of the cutlery against their plates. They spoke no other words to each other for the rest of the meal. 

Tybolt was the first to stand up from his chair, giving one last look to his daughter on his way out.

Melara wasn't able to speak without fearing to break down into tears, and so she ignored Gwen when she cleaned up after her Ser. The woman could only watch the girl rush out of the room after her failed attempt at comforting the child.

Gwen made sure to call for Imogen. 

The younger maid had expected it. 

Imogen was not exactly the most thrilled to hush reassuring words to the girl under her care when she worried so much about her own kin that might face slaughter in the near future. 

Nonetheless, she did it. 

The child fell asleep not long after, red was the flesh around her eyes and the tip of her nose. 

Perhaps, the young Hetherspoon was not the only one she would have to take care of tonight, she thought as she came across Ser Tybolt, drinking before the fire in the hearth. 

Imogen had meant to walk away unnoticed, but luck wasn't with her tonight. 

'Miss Stone, did she give you trouble?' 

'None, Ser.' 

'Be honest.'

'I am. Dame Melara has an impeccable behaviour, given the circumstances.'

Tybolt took another sip and winced at the bitterness of his beverage. He sat down on the velvet chair nearby, he would not feel such softness in a while. 

'She is, it's quite maddening. I don't think I understand adolescent girls.' 

Imogen bit down a smile. 'I don't think it has much to do with that. She cares about you, and she wishes you to be out of harm's way.'

'Well, I've got the wrong profession for that.' 

'I'm confident that you'll come back safely.'

Tybolt contemplated the maid, 'I'll do my best to bring your cousin back to you.' 

'I'm grateful for that.'

'I should be the one thanking you,' he reached for a paper hidden in his vest, 'I have to ask you one more service, aside from all the things you do for my daughter.'

Imogen dreaded his next words. She expected better from Ser Hetherspoon.

She wanted better from her employer. 

Her fears were extinguished as quickly as they rose. 

'In case I do not come back. I'd like for you to follow these instructions .'

The maid carefully took the paper in her hands, reading through the contents. 

'You trust me this much with your daughter?'

'She appreciates you, and you followed her without questions, even when it was your kin's life on the line. I might be a fool, but yes, I do trust you.' 

Imogen nodded. 

'I'll make sure you do not regret this,' she waved the paper, 'but, I do hope we won't have to come to this .'

Tybolt chuckled, he finished his drink. 'I do hope so, too.' 

When the maid left him by himself, he tried to close his eyes and rest a bit until one of his few men walked in to report important news.

Soon after, Ser Hetherspoon made his way to his daughter's room. 

He softly knocked, but was left without response.

Tybolt entered to see Melara asleep, if it weren’t for some air of resemblance with himself he could’ve mistaken her for Tamora. 

The drinks didn’t help.

Waking her up now would mean she’d probably miss his departure, that would be for the best, and that would be egoistic of him, too. He couldn’t handle saying goodbye. 

He felt like he would meet his end in a few.

Tybolt lightly shook Melara’s shoulder, her eyelids fluttering open. Her blue irises shone bright, even with little to no light. He felt a sharp pain pulling on his heart when he noticed the redness around her face.

Tybolt didn’t wait before telling her, hoping that it would soothe her, if only a little.

'There's word that a large shipment of arms was detected near the blackwater bay, our travel won't be for naught. This is good news for us.' 

Melara was still too sleepy to fully register his words, she smiled nonetheless. She reached for his face, her fingers traced his forehead and his nose, then, his eyes. 

‘Watch for the black cloaked knight and his gold sword.’

Her voice had sounded as if she was still dreaming.

Tybolt frowned. He took one of her hands.

Melara's grip on him tightened. ‘Promise me.’ 

That sounded more like his daughter.

‘I will, my sweet. You must go back to sleep.’

Tybolt pulled the warm covers up to her neck and planted a kiss on her forehead.

Chapter Text

The seventeenth sun rose, and Melara was left behind with little to no news. 

In the early mornings, she would try to be a bird and follow her father, but it would never abide for very long. Melara would second-guess her ability. Had she made a descent to madness without even realising it? It was folly that struck her all those months ago, but it was saving her, and it might save her father. 

'If it is the Seven’s will, then it is meant to be,' she murmured to herself in the seclusion of her bedchamber, ‘but how many times have I interfered?’

Her musings were interrupted. She would have never gotten out of bed if it weren't for Imogen's fussing. 

When she was sufficiently awake, Imogen declared, 'Kevan Lannister has sent an invitation for you to spend some time at Casterly Rock.’

Melara’s head whipped around, undoing most of Imogen’s work with her hair, she apologised before standing still again. She huffed.

‘He wants me under his watch in case the Hetherspoon’s house is left without a head.’

With bitterness, Melara knew that most Lannister did not think much of her father, nor his skills, and expected her to be in need of a ward some time soon.

Imogen did not respond.

‘I’m heir of this knightly house,' stated Melara, still thoughtful.

‘You are, indeed.’

Melara felt that Imogen was biting her tongue.

'But?’

‘Your maester informed me that…Well, I heard, they’ve brought the matter of marriage to your father in the past year, to make sure you'd be with someone proper.’

'So, to give me to an unambitious oaf,' plainly answered Melara.

Imogen handed the girl a pair of earrings, 'Or one of their goons, perhaps,' said the maid lightly. 

Melara chuckled.

'As if it'd be any better,' Melara looked down at the jewelleries, they were her mother's. A blue bead held together by an intricate work of copper threads, 'did you know that my mother hoped that I would one day marry Jaime?'

Imogen did not know what to respond, but Melara kept on talking. 'It was foolish of her, and I, to have entertained the idea. I've learned to know my limits.'

'But, if the opportunity aris–'

'No. My mother used to dream big for myself.'

Melara put on her earrings, unfortunately for her, Imogen's interest was piqued. 

The little dame could not see Imogen's smirk. 

'However, if you had the chance…'

Melara turned around, face already flushed. 'Enough!'

Imogen laughed, then promised to stop teasing her.  

After she was done with her own fit of laughter, Melara quietened before turning again to her maid. 'I've been selfish lately, I didn't even ask you how you were faring.'

Imogen fetched her a dark blue silk cloak to wear over the orange gown. 

'I've had better days, but so have you. It's not any more useful to ruminate around all day,' said the woman truthfully. 

Imogen led the girl to stand before the mirror. 

‘Not to boast about my work, but I believe you are a sight, anyone would approve of that statement.’

Melara chuckled. 

‘Lucky me.’

Imogen added bay leaves in her braid. 

The girl watched her through the mirror. 

‘Wouldn’t it be ridiculous if father's alr—´

‘Sometimes you have to act as if you’ve already won.’

‘What a peculiar life view.’

They both fell silent again.

'Besides,' started Imogen, 'they certainly have not reached Duskendale yet.'

Melara's eyes trained to her window, where the sun shone bright and where the leaves of a bright green rustled before them, their dancing shadows seeping into the room and flooding her stony floor. 

'Great, then, I'll start to truly worry tomorrow,' bitterly let out the girl. 

She turned to her maid. 

'If I may… Will you please tell me what my father has asked of you?' 

Imogen's reddish brows lifted up, she regained her composure soon after. 

'How would you feel about being a septa?'

The girl turned back to face the window with an eagerness that revealed her stun, she frowned to herself. Melara raised her hands to play with one of her locks. Imogen did not press her, but her presence weighed on her. 

'I'm not sure the role would suit me,' claimed the girl, '... and what does a septa possess other than devotion?'

Imogen put her hand on the girl's shoulder. 

'You need not to explain yourself to me.'

Melara's shoulders relaxed. 

'Is it wrong of me to want more?'

'Not at all,' she let out an embarrassed laugh, 'I'm not sure where that leaves us, now. Should the Lannisters push a boy, or man, onto you, or to be under the care of someone who doesn't hold your best interests at heart… Your father wished to give you a way out.' 

'Why would they? They are in no hurry to get gifts from my marriage,' Melara faced her again, 'we'll have to pray harder that my father comes back in one piece.’

However, no prayers would be made until nightfall.

The Rock was a strange place in such dire times. Melara had loved the keep the very moment she set her eyes on it. Now, silence reigned over the place, as if the waves of the sea couldn’t reach their walls and no birds sang. Only the occasional footsteps of the servants walking about. The girls occupied a little nook near one of the gardens.

‘Worry is wrinkling your face.’ 

Cersei always knew what to say, Melara thought, unamused. 

‘Seven forbid we age.’

Jeyne chuckled by her side, she kept her attention on her book. Cersei turned to Lady Ann, House Caron’s eldest daughter, who joined them for their afternoon. Melara felt rude for not making more efforts to welcome the girl, but she couldn’t focus for very long on their conversation. 

Cersei and Ann talked while Melara and Jeyne kept to their books.

‘My father never loses. They’ll be fine. Don’t you agree, Ann?’

The other blonde girl nodded carefully. 

‘They’re fighting valiantly, and we’ve seen their numbers. Duskendale could never stand on its own…’

Cersei turned again to Melara, as if to look for some peace of mind around her childhood companion. 

‘I’m grateful for those true words spoken,’ let out Melara, a tight smile on her lips that seemed sincere enough. Jeyne bumped her book against her own, then, Melara’s smile widened a bit as they exchanged mischievous looks. 

‘Enough with the gloom and the smell of old books,’ whined Cersei as she stood up and nearly dragged Ann with her. ‘My brother is probably spending his time by the kennels, shall we join him?’

‘I wouldn’t be against playing with the pups,’ retorted Jeyne as she closed her book.

They all turned to Melara.

‘Pups are probably what’s missing from our afternoon!’ 

The four girls walked away from their little corner with newfound anticipation. 

When they arrived, a pointer dog was fetching a severely damaged ball thrown by none other than the young lion. A giggle and words hinting some of Cersei's joyous mood were enough to stir Jaime's attention. 

Then, he politely greeted her companions. 

The dog brought the brownish mush down by his feet, its tail twirling vigorously as it waited for another throw. 

Jaime threw the thing again as he called out to them, 'You've had enough with your books?' 

'Indeed,' retorted Cersei, 'will you entertain us, brother?' 

Jaime smiled, the dog came back, and the boy led the dog nearer to their group. 

'Up your paws, Grim!' 

The dog, Grim it seemed, did as the young lion asked. 

Ann, whose sounds of delight notched any of theirs, watched the scene with blithe interest as Jaime took Grim by the paws and had the dog stepping closer to Cersei. His twin squealed when the paws⏤covered in dirt⏤got too close to her skirts. 

Ann's giggles sounded strained. 

Melara's attention was stolen by the whimpering of the pups placed in the little patch encircled by a wooden barrier too high for them to jump. 'Hello, darlings.' 

She reached her hand, the dozens of pups rushed to feel her touch. Jeyne came up beside her, 'Look how small they are!'

Her friend took one in her hands, the reddish animal made no pause in his attempts at licking her hand. 

'How impatient, too.' 

Jeyne looked behind them, where Jaime made Grim do tricks while Ann and Cersei watched. 

'Ann seems smitten, don't you think?' 

'It'll pass her, I'm sure,' responded Melara as she kept on petting one black-furred creature. 

Jeyne let out a genuine laugh. 

'She's kind, I hope she won't feel dejected when she realises that the boy has no interest in anything but chivalry and his family.' 

Melara finally looked behind, meeting Jeyne's eyes. Her friend sensed her disinterest and finally grasped onto the opening. 

'Do you worry that much?' 

Her friend sighed and nodded. 

'I hate not knowing the outcome. I can't even feel anything.'

Jeyne frowned. 'Feel?'

Melara sighed again, her fingers tracing an invisible seven-pointed star onto the dry wood.

'Maybe I'm too superstitious, I'm waiting for a sign. I pray for it.'

Laying her arm on her shoulders, Jeyne squeezed Melara's shoulder. 'Even if that sign does not come, your father's a skilled and talented swordsman, he'll come back. Have faith.'  

Melara attempted to hold a smile, but her lip shook.

'With faith, comes doubt.'

Jeyne rolled her eyes, a smile tearing her lips. 'That sounds more like you, now. Perhaps, then, we shall focus on certain things.'

'Such as?'

'The adorable pups are there, and they are not going anywhere, are they?'

Melara smiled back, Jeyne's merriness was contagious. 

'No, they are not.'

Melara extended her hand, reaching for the gold pup crying for attention. The creature relished under her soft palm, exposing its belly for a rub. 

A sudden caw stirred the girls from the pups. 

'It seems they'll remain by your side for aye,' commented Jeyne, as they both watched the crow stand on its little feet, cocking its head from side to side. Black beads for eyes, under its watchful stare, Melara shrugged. 

'Must be why I've been unlucky lately.'

'Maybe they are watching out for you?'

Melara chuckled, her eyes never left the bird, but she reached for that pup to pet its golden fur one last time. 

'I can only hope so!'

She yelped sharply as the small canines bit into her hand. 

Jeyne pulled her away by her arm, Melara was cradling her hand. A neat blood stream was starting to ooze out of the small bite, Melara swallowed down a few curses as she held it.

The twins and Ann came closer, the four of them swarmed around her despite her reassurance. 'It's just a small bite! My life's not in peril!' 

Ann, being the oldest, convinced her to have it checked with Maester Thom, 'he'll clean the wound thoroughly, it is best that we go now.' 

Melara huffed from all the fuss, nonetheless she gave Ann her credit as it was due. 

'I'll find him.'

Melara started to walk on her own, but the little group followed her footsteps diligently to the Maester's place. 

By what seemed to be the thousandth staircase, the ache no longer resided in her hand, it traveled north where with every step she made she felt like a hammer struck her forehead from inside her skull. 

Her companions made no sounds, Jaime looked even a bit horrified as he glanced at her hand. Melara could not resist despite the nerve-wracking headache. 

'Afraid of a bit of blood?'  

'Not the blood, I worry about the pup.' 

Without much thought given, Melara spoke again.

'You have time to hide it, albeit I doubt they'd put it down for me.' 

Cersei scoffed, 'If that thing bit you, it could bite any of us.'

'It's still a babe,' argued Jaime.

'A babe doesn't draw blood, only monsters do!' snapped his twin. 

Jaime fell silent, all intentions to fight his sister on that vanished. 

After that awkward pause in their tiny journey, none of them ever stopped again until they stood before the maester's door.

Maester Thom took the girl in, letting the other children outside. 

'That's a lot of blood but fear not, the wound isn't deep at all, there should be no problem.'

Melara remained silent as he did so, the throb in her head kicking again, hard , made it difficult to even relish at the feeling of the soothing ointment being applied on her newly cleaned wound. The old man started to notice the girl's pallor, and the way she slouched onto the chair. He knew her very little, and tended to her for just a few days, but he knew her to be a genteel girl. 

The maester took the liberty of laying the palm of his hand against her forehead. His lips thinned. 'I'll help you lay down, dear.'

Melara nodded, not quite focused, but she let herself be handled despite her shaking. 

Maester Thom opened the door, her little troupe still waited on her. 'Miss Hetherspoon is laying down, I must fetch Ser Kevan,' before any of the younglings could voice their demand he objected to their request, 'I cannot let you see her. Was she feeling unwell before the bite? Did she eat, drink anything?'

Jeyne shook her head. 

'No, she was just fine, Maester.' 

He hummed before turning to the door and locking it. 

Thom vanished as soon as he did so, ignoring the youth's myriad of plaints.

Behind the lock door, the fall to slumber was immediate. Melara knew that her state was not normal by any means. 

As of late, normalcy was a foreign concept and would be for a very long time. 

A calm acceptance washed over her as she watched fallow lands unthread below her.

Chapter Text

The Hetherspoon knight rode East on horseback, knowing he was only a face lost among the thousands of others. 

At nearly forty, he feared not what may come, but what he would leave behind. A daughter, and his duties unfulfilled. 

Tybolt despised the long paths to battle, he was left to his own thoughts and regrets, with a few polite words exchanged with other Sers. 

What he knew for certain, this battle held stakes far higher than he could imagine. 

An ounce of guilt had the time to settle in his stomach, he somewhat instigated their coming to Duskendale, albeit it was inevitable from the news that travelled. Yet, he was used to being just one with his sword, how come one letter between servants led this far? 

Now, blood and worse would be spilled sooner than later.

At least, his daughter was safe. A devoted maid would take care of her, and pull her from the lions' claws if necessary. 

The mews of gulls caught the attention of their group, and the few chatters occurring all ceased. 

They were nearly there.  

Tybolt took a deep breath, he couldn't allow himself to die. 

As only the hoofs of their horses kicked into the dirt filled the silence, Duskendale’s city was visible hours later. Time worked in weird manners. It could’ve been mere hours since he’s last seen his daughter. 

Yet, the sun rose and set dozens of times, maybe more. Rain drops quietly fell on them. 

He watched the same trees and landscapes as they passed by, at least the trips always promised some wondrous sightings. They were pale in comparison to Tamora’s garden or the heathers growing around their manor. 

He felt oddly reassured by the few crows he glimpsed flying above them, just like at home. 

A morose walk for a tedious task, a task because Tybolt understood that he’d been foolish to wish to die in battle back when he was young. He was only a sword, he had not seen his son reach his shoulders, and he would not see his daughter grow any older than thirteen. 

He would have loved to die old by Tamora’s side.

When they besieged the city, and forced the doors, Tybolt knew that his greatest achievement had been his family, despite failing each of them.

Chapter Text

Maester Thom had been tending to the Hetherspoon girl for seven nights now.

The girl had bouts of tremblings and a fever breaking out. 

He was perplexed that any of this would come out of a small pup's bite, and so quickly afterhand, the Farman girl swore that she was fine moments before. He examined the other kids, all remained still very healthy. 

He wrote down his observations throughout the days, and sent for the Hetherspoon's Maester to come down to a conclusion. However, the very next day, her maid came to him, asking to see her little dame. He took his chance. 

'Has the girl ever been in such a state before?'

Imogen shook her head, 'Not at all. She did have trouble sleeping, but she's always been healthy despite everything.' 

Thom scribbled against the parchment. 

He left the girl with her maid as he went to update Ser Kevan Lannister.

He feared the chaos that would ensue if he shared his potential diagnosis, he was utterly lost in her case, because if he were right, the girl should already be dead by now. 

Ser Kevan attended to the keep's affairs in his older brother's office. Maester Thom's entrance pulled his attention off the paperwork. The man bowed his head.

'I was about to send someone for you, how's that Hetherspoon girl?'

Thom crossed his hands before his torso. 

'There's no improvement nor decline in her state.'

'What do you reckon we should do about her?' 

'I'm afraid that we can only wait, I've done as you requested, her closest maid claims that it is an isolated occurrence.'

Ser Kevan leaned back on his brother's chair, drumming his quill against the armchair. 

It was easier to omit things to him than the mighty lion. 

'I suppose we'll take her word for it, if she wakes up and that her father does not come back, you'll have to make sure she's healthy long enough to have us settle about her household's property.'

Thom's lips thinned, 'Are you expecting the worst, Ser?'

'My brother taught me to always make the best out of the worst outcomes.'  

'I'll do my best to save us any grievances, Ser.'

He was dismissed, and as he walked back to his work, he's left pondering on the poor girl's bleak future. Her father could not have done her worse than to leave her without any authority. She'd fall in the Lannister's hands until she was of age if anything happened to him, and the Lannisters are only capable of looking after their own kin. Perhaps, they wouldn't bother at all about the girl if he told them that he suspected a case of the shivers. 

If he was wrong, and he hoped he was as he's never seen anyone show such symptoms that quickly, or that she survived, Thom supposed that Tywin would leave it to Kevan if he came back as Lord Hand. 

However, he was sure that Tybolt and Tamora had better things in mind for their daughter than being a mare to some inconsequential man.

The occasional conversations with their own Maester, Alby, left him quite astonished by how much he praised his pupil. A bright girl she is, he would boast. 

Thom tried not to brood too much, his friend was a great knight, he would come back and all of their worries would have been for naught. He had his own theories of course, the bite alone could not have caused such a reaction, her mind might have been sick in these troubling times. Too many emotions and negative experiences with nearly no gap at all, with the start of bleedings by that age? No, surely, the girl must be overwhelmed. If she was as knowledgeable as Alby claimed, perhaps she knew the risks of a dog's bite? The human mind was a complex thing and did monstrous tricks on people.

He climbed the very last step of the steep stairs before coming face to face with the familiar twins who haunted the Rock, the Farman and Caron girls by their side. The small group seemed to have been waiting for him. 

'Is she awake?' 

'How is she?'

'Has she become mad?' 

Thom could only be sure of who voiced what for only one question. 

He sighed. 

'No to all inquiries. She needs rest that can't be interrupted.'

Jaime was unusually determined. 

'We can't see her for a moment, even if we are quiet?' 

Thom slowly shook his head, 'I'm sure she'll appreciate that, but I'm afraid it is not what she needs. If anything happens, I'll seek you out.' 

The Maester was nearly tempted to pat the boy on the shoulder to chase away his deflected look, but the audience made him shy. 

He nodded to them all, even smiling at Jeyne Farman whose face he'd recognise everywhere since the night she helped save Melara, before closing the door on them, again. 

'Was her wound really that bad?' asked timidly Ann. 

Cersei scoffed, 'No. That only means it's gone worse by now, does it not? Maybe her face has turned hideous.'

Jeyne couldn't stop herself from being too optimistic. 'Maybe he's making a fuss out of nothing? After all, it's only been a year since the accident, he can't leave room for mistakes if her state remains weak.'

They all decided to believe Jeyne and her pink visions. 

Jaime remained silent, swallowing his guilt before letting Cersei and Ann attempt to distract him. Of course, they were not allowed outside the keep's walls, now. 

They played the same games, and he'd lose at all of them. Cersei was not happy with his absent-mindedness.

He will have to apologise and make up for it later, but even if it tore his heart apart to see her frown upon him, he couldn't entirely focus on her or anything that they were doing. Whether it was with her companions or when they were alone.

His mind kept moving back to Melara and her mercy toward a pup that might be killing her. 

He hid it as she had told him to. He wondered if it deserved to be spared. 

Why bother with kindness to a beast who hurt the ones he cared about?

His thought startled him. 

Did he care about anyone other than his family than Cersei? 

Melara had never occupied his mind for anything other than a fleeting thought as he pictured Cersei, her companions remaining behind her, nearly faceless figures.

He did enjoy talking to them, he thought. Jeyne was always kind, Melara… 

It was a blur. 

Cersei never got bored by her, and the Seven knows how much she did get bored of Jeyne, but to be fair to Farman, she was always there. Melara came and went as she pleased. She remained a novelty and was not as sheltered as they were.

She might not wield any weapon, but if he had gone through the same things as she did in so little time, he might not be able to smile at all. Likewise, she was stronger than she seemed. 

He knew he couldn't voice it, why? He did not know, but he hoped she would make it out of the Maester's office as lively as his memory recalled. It was odd, because he hated anything that yielded Cersei's attention other than himself.

For now, Jaime could only wait and see.

Chapter Text

Flames and dirt warmed Tybolt's skin.

The smell of burning corpses and cold blood stuck to the walls of stones that still stood. 

Cries and pleas for help were muffled by the steady rhythm of iron swords clashing. The grating noises kept him on the look-out for any new assailant. 

Sometimes he'd hear that same caw, and he'd see the shadows of black wings passing by. 

A crow whose sole purpose was to watch out for him. 

The blood on his hands never felt cleaner. 

They were winning, he thought. They outnumbered them, too.

Tybolt wasn't sure any more what time of the day it was, but his throat ached, and his mouth was drier than any desert. How many kills will he have to do before this end? 

Until he can hear the signal, Tybolt must keep going. 

That was how it worked. That was his work. 

One more before he could come back to his kin. 

Several horsemen passed him by, nearly trampling him to death, but Tybolt kept himself steady on his feet despite his limbs begging him to give up. 

An arrow flew by, so closely that he followed its trajectory until it nestled in between the arm and clavicle of one of the horsemen. The horse left its rider onto the dirt before galloping away. 

Tybolt could not get a close look at the face, but he knew that one of their own had attracted the attention of the colossal knight, unhelmed, who'd been advancing on them with its black cloak whirling behind him. 

Hadn't his blood told him about a dark cloaked knight? She didn't say anything about his giant size, he will have to tell her later. 

The man, if that's what he could be called, dragged his bloody golden sword with him. He seemed as exhausted as Tybolt was. Still, his resolve to target the man down was made of steel as he kept going, focused on him. 

That was good, Tybolt thought. The knight was distracted, he sneaked up on him while he started to bleed the man with small cuts, until he noticed him. 

The man had set himself to take care of him, and their swords met with more force than neither had too much of. Tybolt could hear his ragged breath through the drumming of his heart. Couldn't he wait for the battle to end? The outcome was clear enough. Or perhaps, he'd come to like the thrill of it?

Their duel was cut short. 

Maybe Tybolt was hallucinating. Or the Seven was with him.

A crow, that same crow he had noticed these past few days, flew over the plain man's face and hit his eyes with its beak, twice. 

The man shrieked, and let go of his sword to cover his face with his hands. And the cruel bird scratched his flesh and hit him again with its beak. 

The scene before him left Tybolt stunned, but the opening could not be left unattended.

The man remained assaulted by the mad bird.

It made it easy for Ser Hetherspoon to plunge his dagger in the nape of his neck. 

First he finally let his hands slide off his face, before falling onto his knees. 

The man, or the boy really’ looked at him with his wide and bloody eyes. The same scared look he’d seen on so many others, but now all he was reminded of was the memory of his own young son in his dying bed, taken by the consumption.

Tybolt extracted his dagger out of his neck, he winced as blood splashed onto his face.

The boy fell down head first onto the mud. 

It should have been a kill amongst many others. 

Yet, for Tybolt, it was the one which graced him with the gratitude of the Mighty Lion.

A murderous crow and an indebted lion, Tybolt might have thought that he might have died a few hours ago and he was being played by the Seven itself.

Chapter Text

The crow put a man to his knees, and never had she felt so relieved.

The relief drew out the guilty. For now. 

His flesh under her claws and between her beak felt so distant. Her father would return. 

A croak brought her back to the West. 

The sound echoed inside her head, from her slumber to her awakening. 

When she was done crying in relief, although all assumed that it must have been from the pain and fatigue she’s been through, Melara nearly regretted waking up. 

Her body felt all wrong and Imogen was fussing over her in a way that was comical. Maester Thom forbade her from going out of that room despite all of her complaints of the stale odour, of her own body odour that appalled her along with the nest her hair had become. 

She was glad that there were no mirrors around. Melara only wished that her nose was stuffed up to make it a tiny bit more bearable. At least, no one else but the Maester and Imogen would see her in that state.

Maester Thom finally conceded to open up the window when he no longer thought her to be possibly contagious from whatever condition she might have caught. 

He thought her a miracle. 

Melara knew better, of course. 

He might not accept such truths, but at least for the medical miracle she'd been for him, he finally let Imogen make arrangements for her to have a bath. Septa Lynora had helped too. And, when Imogen told the girl how relentless the Lannister boy and her friends had been with their wish to visit, the godly woman’s voice had been cutting enough for Melara to drop her feeble smile. 

‘Don't delude yourself, the boy is destined for greater things. You’d be sent away, ruined and if you're unlucky enough to be with a child, don't even think that it'll be cared for. It won't be recognised, it'll be raised to serve, like I do now.’

Melara and Imogen stared at the woman before exchanging a small look.

‘Septa Lynora, a very well-thought reminder, but uncalled-for. She’s only thirteen,’ said the maid.

‘An awful age, you should do your best to put a stop to her reveries.’

Melara took offense. 

‘You are not in my head, how could you believe I had untoward thoughts toward him?’

The septa huffed, ‘your simpering smile.’

The girl widened her eyes, and turned to her maid as she looked for assistance.

‘Broad accusations,’ said the maid, who sighed in great relief when Maester Thom walked in, putting a stop to septa Lynora’s chatter. 

The man might have looked at Melara a bit mad when she woke up, relieved, with no care in the world. Because, she didn't have to worry any more. 

The thought made her giddy. She had a secret, a pearl that she only wanted to share with the world. 

She'll have to be patient. 

Like Lady Ann around Jaime.

When Melara had been allowed to roam around the Rock, and looking as presentable as ever. She noticed the shifts that had occurred in only a matter of a few days. 

Ann was all pink around Jaime and the boy did seem to humour her and act like a proper gentleman, more than he’s ever been with anyone who wasn’t his twin. 

Jeyne and Melara thought that maybe he might have developed his taste for girls. 

Cersei thought the idea ridiculous.

‘Jaime has better aspirations than this.’

‘Ann is well-accomplished, is she not?’ inquired Jeyne, her brows furrowed as she couldn’t possibly find Ann a flaw to hold against her.

‘House Caron is a vassal. My brother and I won't be marrying servants,’ retorted Cersei.

Jeyne and Melara exchanged a look, it was Jeyne who took it upon herself to speak up. 

‘Many Lannisters have married into their vassal houses, am I wrong?’

The blonde rolled her eyes. 

'Indeed, but not all Lannisters are the Hand's children.'

The pair bristled with discomfort from Cersei's venom, they all knew it, but their companion always seemed to think herself above what was proper at times. Melara changed the topic.

'How did you fill your days during my convalescence?'

'Boring games inside, cakes, an attempt to visit you, and did I mention boring games?' answered animatedly Cersei. 

'Wasn't the weather good enough to venture outside?'

Cersei huffed, 'You weren't the only one to be confined… What overcame you anyway?'

She took a small breath, she merely had to repeat Maester Thom's diagnosis. 'An infectious fever, Maester Thom believes I was already sick prior to the bite, my body did its best to reject any ills.'

'Must be why he examined us all, then,' reasoned Jeyne. 

Cersei brushed her hair off her shoulder and as she stood up from her chair, she placed her hand on Melara's shoulder. 'I'm glad you're up and standing again, I hope you'll refrain from giving us such a scare in the future.'

'I shall do my best.'

Said friend walked off quietly, probably to find her twin again. 

Melara turned to Jeyne who looked at her sceptically. 

'You look so much brighter now, one might think that the Seven spoke to you.'

'Maybe it did,' replied the brunette cheekily.

Perhaps, Melara loved Casterly Rock still, as she took a stroll within its wall and never strayed too far from the windows where she could see the sea underneath and hear the winds and waves singing. Imogen was making the trip back to their keep to fetch her some pieces of her wardrobe, instead of letting her borrow from Jeyne or Ann. 

The maid promised to be back by sunset. 

It was such a difficult task to be around others these days, alone she knew the glorious news and could not yet gleam at it. Everyone else remained on their toes, letting the morbid atmosphere loom around them like shadows. The frightening experience of remaining inside her head was already forgotten, Melara felt some rush just thinking about it.

She saw the future, and changed it.

She saved her own blood. 

A gift had been bestowed upon her.

On her gleeful walk, she stepped right into a warm mass. 

Hands caught her by the forearms, saving her from a disgraceful fall. 

Melara slightly lifted her head, eyes meeting a green stare, and she nearly forgot how tall Jaime had got, did his height increase in only a few days? Had she simply not noticed? She scorned herself, it was an insignificant detail. 

'Cersei should be in her room, I believe,' announced the girl, quite ready to walk past him once he let her go. 

Jaime put his hands off her.

'Actually, I meant to speak with you.'

Melara's brows shot up. 

'Why so?'

The boy looked disconcerted by her surprise, 'I'd like to apologise, I bothered you with a pup when it had hurt you, I didn't think you would be that sick, and yet… you showed the creature mercy.'

His twin's friend only smiled a bit, as if his worries had been for naught.

'Do not fret too much, I'll tell you a secret,' the girl leaned closer after looking both ways to ensure she wouldn't be overheard, and he did not back down, 'those few days unconscious might have been just what I needed!'

Jaime watched the girl as if she had declared herself to be the Seven on earth. Perhaps, rattling him had been her goal all along, as she let out a peal of laughter. 

'All kinds of things happen, maybe it was the Seven's will and great things will come my way.'

Melara's words did not do much to quell his guilt. 

And so, once her merriness wore off, she added, 'it was out of your control, Jaime.' 

The girl smiled again as she manoeuvred her way to get past him, 'don't fuss about it, will you?'

He frowned, his mouth's corners moving slightly downwards. 

'I'll try.' 

The girl turned around, her skirts swishing as she walked away, the boy left alone. 

He started to walk away as soon as she disappeared from his sight, and with each step he made away from her, he felt a growing annoyance churning inside him. 

Off-putting he thought her to be, and nerve-wracking was it to see no one else take notice of her behaviour. She held some sort of glee, and hid it. She looked at and spoke to people as if she knew things others didn't.

He finally found the better word to describe her. 

Irritating. 

Melara put on an all-knowing yet humble act at all times, with a self-assurance that tilted to arrogance. 

Surely, Cersei would not be deceived by such a fraud?

Chapter Text

Trumpets reverberated throughout the keep and the cities as thousands of men came home.

From a high window, Jaime watched the cityscape, tall walls and the bell tower of the Sept shining bright underneath the morning sunlight and while he could not see his father and his men parade on horseback through the intricate paths of Lannisport, not even the sea waves could cover the roar of applause and cheers of the city-dwellers. 

His focus on the glorious return was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. He had a slight idea of who it might be, and he made his way to open the door. Behind, waited a small boy and his carer standing not far behind.

'Good morning, Tyrion,' he smiled as he took his brother in his arms and started to carry him to their dining hall where their breakfast awaited. The carer, Morgan, followed them behind. 

His little brother articulated his words carefully. 'What's that sound? It's loud!'

'That, brother, means our father is coming back home.'

'What was he doing?'

'Fighting, to save the king,' explained Jaime as he both led them to their seats. Cersei's seat had been pulled. He noticed the crumbs, meaning she had already broken her fast. It was unusual for her to be this early, but no one could sleep late with such a ruckus. 

'Will he be fine?' asked Tyrion, the boy immediately reaching for the apple pie. Oblivious to the matter of life and death that came with notions of battle, he had never seen a sword drawing blood. 

Jaime took a large bite of the piece of lamb that lay ahead of him, buying himself time to craft his answer. He had no idea. His father never had any trouble, but this time he could not shake the feeling that it might have been the one time that he'd find himself wounded.  

'He's the mighty lion, you don't have to fear for him.' 

After their meal and a bit of play, Tyrion was taken by Morgan for a nap, Jaime went on to search for Cersei. He did not have to ask around as he made his way closer and closer to their courtyard where he heard fits of giggles and the tune of a wheel vielle. 

He walked into the scene where Melara, Cersei and Ann were swirling around each other as Jeyne played her instrument. None of them paid him any mind, and Jeyne picked up the pace. Cersei was not as dignified in her movements as he knew she could be. Melara's chaos rubbed off on her as the girl carelessly gyrated and moved her arms far too energetically. The oddness of the girl seemed to captivate Cersei long enough for her to remain unaware of him. 

An heather wreath remained strong and its mauve petals unspoiled at the tip of her fingers.

Ann took a step back to breathe for a moment. She promptly greeted him. 

'Beautiful day, is it not?'

'It is,' he answered as he kept his eyes on the pair. 

Ann followed his line of sight. 'Would you care to dance?' 

He would have rejected it on any other day, but he seized the opportunity when it offered itself to him. 'Very much, Lady Ann.'

Jaime took her hand, it was foreign to touch anyone but Cersei. Her palm was not as soft nor warm as hers, he found. Ann had been the most tolerable of Cersei's companions, almost pleasant as she lent an ear after the long painful hours studying in the library under the Maester's surveillance.

He nearly bumped into Melara, or rather, she almost crashed onto him. 

He cussed her out in his mind. 

Dancing with Ann was rather sweet, she followed his pace and never tried anything too daring. Her blonde hair was duller than his sister and his, yes, but it had its shine under the passing sunlight. It seemed to please his uncles and aunts that he was most friendly with the Caron girl, and so he kept on being his nicest. 

The steps reminded him of duelling, turning and apprehending the opponent, waiting for their next moves. The girl was even graceful, nearly soothing his nerves as Melara’s laugh infected Cersei and Jeyne. The upsetting girl haunted the fringes of his visions. 

Melara might’ve turned green at any moment, and he couldn’t desire for his sister’s mood to plummet because the goose vomited on her dress. He forced his eyes to not stray again from Ann, should she’d notice his careful demeanour.

Jaime did not have time to check if his petty little plan made its effects, as they were interrupted by his uncle. 

Kevan and his wife, Dorna, hastily brought them to the balcony near the gates, where they would watch who had made it from the battle and journey. Melara was ecstatic beside them, it seemed as if only Jeyne and Cersei's linked arms with hers were stopping her from jumping or falling off, she still handled the wreath with great care.

Jaime did not conceal the contempt on his face as he watched the brunette closely, Cersei had still not spared him a glance. 

Perhaps, he did like Melara best when she was unnoticeable and merely a plaything for his sister on occasional days, when he was unavailable. 

The gate opened.

All stable men cleared the path for the new arrivals.

Tywin Lannister in his golden armour advanced on his horse he led with one hand, at a slower pace than Jaime knew him to prefer. A red cape was draped across his shoulders.

Dirt sprayed on the pavement from under the horses' hooves as they strutted past the big gate. 

The annoying girl seemed to be searching through the rows of men seeping inside.

Melara's awe brought Jaime's attention back to the crowd below. Behind his father, high on his horse, the Hetherspoon house's head looked haggard, but above all, unscathed. 

The man and his father exchanged words, Melara rushed back inside as soon as his uncle headed downstairs. Jeyne, whose father was safe already, remained with Ann on that balcony, the latter preferred to wait out upstairs, away from the chaos of the warriors.

Cersei guided him by the hand to take the same path.

The sun seeped inside the large dark corridor, as servants scurried along to take care of preparations, fussing over bath water and food to carry to the kitchens. 

Their uncle and aunt were already standing before the doors, ready to welcome his brother with open arms. Jaime and Cersei walked to join him, Melara was barely containing herself beside them again, and it was only once Tywin Lannister finally started to get off his destrier that Jaime noticed his father's posture. His back remained straight, but he recognised a slight downturn of his lips and the displeasure in his eyes. He'd seen that look often enough. 

Tywin was forceful in his grip of the reins, he held them tightly in his right fist as he kept the heel of his hand against the pommel of his saddle as an anchor. 

Jaime caught the slight wince when his father finally hopped off the horse, and his feet touched the ground. 

He observed it all for a moment. 

The Warden of the West acknowledged his twins with a simple nod before greeting his brother.

Jaime tightened his grip on Cersei's hand.

They both remained to listen, Cersei more than he, surely. 

Melara rushed to her father once he was off his destrier, Tybolt Hetherspoon caught her as she came running and engulfed her in a warm embrace. He twirled her the same way as he did before them when they were only seven. Her father bowed to her so she could place the wreath on the top of his head before he took her in his arms once more.

The exchange caught the eye of the buzzing crowd behind, who watched with tender faces.

What Jaime found most curious was that as more men passed by, they all seemed to care a great deal to be able to greet the Hetherspoon knight. The more bold ones patted the man’s back before going their way.

Melara noticed too, but she still had that smug, knowing look to her as she did all those past days. He thought that he could make out her ‘why?’.

Normally, Tywin would retreat back to their private quarters and not pay any mind to his men. Yet, he seemed to be enthralled by the scene unfolding before them between the knight and his daughter. Maybe… Was he waiting for them? 

Tybolt Hetherspoon finally noticed his liege Lord’s stare, he let go of Melara to approach the Lannisters.

Tywin extended his right hand to the man who took it without hesitation. 

‘Brother, I believe you already know the man who saved my life on the battlefield.’

The twins reddened a bit. Their father. In need of saving?

By an insignificant knight of their land, no less. 

He wasn’t sure how to feel, grateful perhaps, but their father was all mighty. 

A simple man could not possibly have saved him. 

Jaime watched Cersei, who looked as perplexed by this novel concept. Not upset but neither joyed by it.

‘How?’ asked Jaime, eyes travelling between his father and the knight. 

He needed to know if the man had been an extraordinary knight all along. Like the ones he’d hear great stories about.

'I was knocked off my horse, Tybolt slew him before he got to me.'

'It might be too much credit for me to take alone. You see, a crow pecked his eyes and clawed his face. The Seven will never cease to take my breath away,' replied the man, too solemn for it to be a pitiful attempt at modesty.

Tywin patted Tybolt's shoulder with his good hand. 

'Yet, it favours us and gives us a tale to tell to the children, we stand and breathe as just men.'

'A crow?' asked Dorna, astonished and cautious of their words. Kevan watched the men in a similar fashion.

'I swear it on all of our gold, sister.' 

Kevan turned to the Hetherspoon man, his eyes travelled down to the daughter who peeked behind Tybolt, Melara watched the men as if she already knew of their words.

 'I hear that crows love your heaths, if you do not chase them away, they make good companions.'

'They are fiercely loyal, actually,' said Melara and all heads turned her way while she raised her chin higher, 'and can now save lives at the Seven's command, fascinating, isn't it?'

Cersei sighed. 'Too bad they are too common and sombre, I would've liked a flock of them had they been prettier!'

'Murders of crows are an awe to behold,' added Melara, beaming. Then, she tugged on her father's cloak, 'Is Claudia safe?'

Tybolt nodded, before pointing out a small carriage that was now parked near the gates. A girl who looked very much like Imogen waited by with other women, her maid had already joined her side. 

'Best not to interrupt,' spoke Melara, 'our blueberry tarts are waiting.' 

'That's an emergency I'd love to attend to.'

Tybolt turned toward the Hand and bowed to him, 'I'll leave you to recover and reunite with your family, Lord Lannister.'

The pair left hand in hand. Melara energetically prompted her father to speak of his journey, ignoring the green pairs of eyes. 

Chapter Text

Ridiculous

That thought came across Claudia very often as she served Serela and Denys Darklyn. Once, accompanied by a blinding headache as they remained hidden in the dungeons during the last day of the siege, all fearing for what would come once the Lannisters' army and bannerets broke inside. 

And, they had indeed, the most expected outcome for a defiance toward a moody king and its cruel hand. Despite knowing all that, her hands shook. 

But the men’s eyes, despite lingering, sought the myrrish woman, and so, she tried to hide among the crowd of other ladies and maids in one corner.  

Hours of utter confusion followed, they simply did not know what to do, the most fearful whispered that they’d die, as an example for the entire realm. They were cornered and nothing happened, nor were they tasked to do anything. 

The only certain thing was that house Darklyn was no more. 

Claudia’s heartbeat rivalled drums as an old maid that she only knew in passing came to her and told her a knight was looking for her .

She asked the maid to lead her to him, because there was nothing else for her there anyway. 

She immediately thought of her cousin in the west, it could only be her doing. Maybe the man had a small sum for her to take, but the question still remained fresh in her mind, how did her cousin pull this off? 

Days later, she came to see the answer for herself. 

Among the great joy and relief that arrived with joining her older cousin, Claudia was perplexed. 

‘What’s so special about her that you trust her this much?’, she plainly asked her cousin after supper. 

Imogen, poised as ever with the scar on her face that seemed less striking in the dim light, slowly turned to her. Only thinking a few seconds before speaking.

‘Not much. I was a consolation prize for a mourning child. She thinks she’s acting older than she actually is, like many others, but she’s genuine.’

Claudia’s eyes narrowed, ‘is that all?’ 

The pause gave them both the answer that it was not. ‘Do you remember how my mother firmly believed in higher forces?’

‘Magic. Tales. Yes, I do.’

Imogen smiled, the girls had grown and stopped believing everything the woman said, but she still held a fleeting belief that it might have been all true. 

‘Some think we have a miracle-maker.’

‘Because she survived a high fall? Maybe that’s what I should claim and start a tour across the land as a prophet, I wage that there are many coins to earn.’

Imogen rebuked her.

'I did not think much of it at first,' the young woman shook her head, 'but coincidences are starting to pile up, small things at first, as if her instincts were far ahead than any of us. Then, Ser Heatherspoon and Lord Tywin come back, blabbering about a crow? The girl remaining in convalescence? You know that I--'

'Don't believe in coincidences,' stated Claudia. 

Imogen took her hand, 'no, I don't.'

Claudia's thoughts whirlwind. 

'Where does that leave us ?'

Imogen was just as much at a loss for words as Claudia, until a gleam in her eyes proved that she knew exactly what they should agree on.

'We wait, serve and watch. Magic brings trouble, that's what mother always said.'

'Do well to remember that I'd rather not put myself in danger for a little girl who'll probably be okay anyway. I like my face and body intact,' she looked at Imogen's scar, a mark of her cousin's bravery and stupidity. She had a bad habit of upsetting the wrong men. 

Imogen shrugged, 'I do not expect you to, nor does she.'

Wait, serve, watch. 

Claudia found it easier than expected.

Melara was not a difficult girl to take care of, she was a sparkly one that seemed to either have a racing or snail-like thought pace. However, the company she found in the Warden's daughter gave her enough headaches. After hearing that aggravating, irritating noise once more during the prolonged stay in the Rock, Claudia took over all the menial work as long as it could keep her far from the blonde fiend.

Once, as Claudia changed the little dame's bedsheets while the said girl sat by the fire, Melara questioned her.

'You don't like the little lady of the West very much, do you?'

The maid blinked.

Carefully, she shook her head, after all she had very few conversations with the girl and the bluntness stunned her.

'No one can like everyone,' she answered plainly.

Melara pursed her lips, her eyes on the fire.

'I suppose so, but I have hopes that she'll grow up to be a strong and wise lady of a great house.'

Claudia smiled. 'One can only hope. Perhaps, she'll learn how to be a good friend, too.'

The girl bit back her smile.

'She isn't so bad, time will do its work.'

'We'll see,' the maid pressed a hand on the fresh linen and gathered the dirty laundry in a basket before lifting it up. She glanced once again toward the girl, who seemed in deep thoughts but, most of all, lonely. 'You shouldn't sit so close to the fire, you're inhaling smoke.'

With that, she exited the room, leaving the lonely girl.

Chapter Text

The last dark red drop poured out of the jug in Tywin’s hand. Two cups rested on the mahogany table, both full. He slid one to the man before him. 

'The least I could offer is a cup of my best wine.'

Tybolt offered him a vague smile as he leaned in to reach for the beverage. 

The Lord Hand of Westeros had invited a simple knight to have wine in his private quarters. His wife would have been in raptures, he thought bitterly. 

'That is something my wife would have congratulated me for.'

'I found out the worst part of being a widow is trying to picture my wife’s responses to daily occurrences.' 

Tybolt looked out outside the windows, where the setting sun coloured the sky in yellow hues that reminded him of his own House’s banners.

'I always thought she would outlive me. Losing a boy is one devastating thing, but… I never thought I would lose Tamora too,' he gulped his wine, 'does it ever get better?'

'No,' answered Tywin plainly, sipping his own wine, 'I knew not your late wife but the great beauty which preceded her. I cannot lie to you that the years passing by helps. Rather, they become a distant memory, and while you grow old, they remain the same.' 

Tywin had not made any attempt at concealing his bitterness. 

'Our cruel fates are sealed, I suppose,' replied Tybolt before he finished his cup.   

'Not so much for those you care about, if you play your cards right.'

'Any suggestions, my Lord?' 

'Your daughter. She has a talent for attracting notice.'

Tybolt winced. 'And that will become my nightmare soon enough.'

Tywin curled his lips in sympathy. 'I'll ask you a simple question. Are you in want of anything concerning her?' 

The knight gauged him above the rim of his cup as he stole a bit more time to flesh out his answer. He placed the cup back on the table. 

'I won't presume anything and ask her the very second I see her, then I will let you know.'

His words drew an amused look from the Warden, the corners of his mouth twitching before he finally let them widen to show off what was likely a smile as the words sank in.

He expected for the man to seize marriage arrangements for his daughter right away, he would have conceded a nephew or the heir of one of his most loyal vassals. Perhaps, the man was truly more naive than he expected. 

'Doting father you are,' spoke Tywin, 'what about you, then?'

Tybolt was once again taken aback, but he did not have to think his answer through. 

'I take great pride in teaching swordsmanship, there's not much I seek outside of that, but I do have a request. If I were to die before my daughter is of age, and sadly I don't have anyone else to ask, you as liege lord will most likely acquire the role of her guardian… I'd like to ensure she has the liberty of choosing to marry who she wishes, and when she wishes it. ' 

‘I see,' the lord watched the knight, Tybolt could not make much of Tywin's expression. 'You have my word, then. Though, she'll have no issue finding suitors, if I were to believe my brother, a few houses have hinted their interest for the girl.'

The knight thanked him, relieved.

'My son is set to go to Crakehall after the festivities, until then, how about you take him under your wing during his last months in Casterly Rock?' 

'That would be my honour,' replied the knight, without an ounce of hesitation.

'That is settled, until then, your daughter and yourself will stay here. I hope it agrees with her, I've heard of her troubles during your absence.'

'She's doing much better, thank you for your concern, my Lord. I think she'll be very pleased to be able to spend more time with her friends.'

'Perfect.' Tywin reached again for the jug, ''Another cup?'

Tybolt graciously agreed.

Chapter Text

Normality settled in the days that followed, which greatly reassured Cersei. 

In the cumbersome preparations for the festivities to properly celebrate Duskendale’s defeat, Cersei felt herself less watched and went wherever she pleased within the Rock. She had not felt such freedom since Melara’s fall. 

Tywin had kept a hawk eye on her, if not his, her uncle Kevan’s who would always lurk around. Perhaps, their servants were instructed to watch her, too. No, she was sure. They had to make sure the breeding mare wouldn’t be tarnished outside the walls of Casterly Rock. 

If only they knew the truth, she thought to herself, a bit pleased with that secret she held deep within. 

It had been a good week since her father’s return.

Jaime’s preceptor even allowed her once or twice to remain in the library during his lesson, and she listened as she feigned to be reading gentle poetry. 

Something distraught her, however. Several things, even. 

First, her father came home wounded , saved by a mere knight who’d shown little prowess in duels and jousts. He was now allowed to teach Jaime the art of the sword.

Her little brother was naive, with little ambition, and pushed himself far too easily under the commands of a servant. He looked forward to his lessons with a renewed vigour, honoured to learn from the man their father believed to have saved him. 

It wasn’t quite right. 

Now, Melara spoke of the oddest thing. She had returned to being her true self for a moment, agreeable and not thinking outside of her station. She appreciated her again, but she had to ruin it. 

She, Melara, Jeyne and Ann sat down practicing their stitches.

A boring afternoon turned into an odd one. As she observed Melara finish up a crow over her house’s orange and black banners, the girl spoke with poise. 

‘Lord Lannister has asked my father what I’d like. As a gift for his valour.’ 

While Jeyne and Ann reacted all pleased, Cersei titled her head.

‘Has he?’, she replied.

Melara only hummed back.

‘I know just what I’ll ask.’

Cersei straightened up in her seat, eyes narrowed and her lips downturned.

All three waited for Melara to elaborate. 

‘So?’ pressed Cersei.

‘I’ve spoken about it with my father. He finds it presumptuous. But I don’t think so.’

'Don't be so cryptic, now,' complained Jeyne. 

Melara chuckled. 

'Perhaps, I shouldn't say it, or it might never be given to me?' 

Cersei nearly let out a growl, before going back to her own stitches.
'Then, let's not hear it.' 

All three others gave laughter in response. 

Melara still couldn't contain one good news, she leaned closer, and she spoke each word carefully, 'what I can say for now, is that my father assured me that I'll choose my betrothed when the time comes.' 

Ann and Jeyne congratulated her. The latter reached Melara's opposite shoulder and brought her in a side embrace. It might have been a small privilege, but it surely soothed any anxieties for later.

Cersei's lips quirked upwards, the smile did not quite reach her eyes, but she looked impressed enough for Melara to not notice her falter in her own elation.

The cheers continued down their way down to the gardens, seeking thrills, anything to idle the afternoon away. They all became quiet as a mouse when they came across Hector Clegane, flanked by his two sons, Gregor and Sandor. The young boy kept his head down, his burn scars still red, as if his face had half-melted just yesterday. Despite that, he did not show any pain. 

Aside from the appalling sight of the boy, the rumours behind the cause kept the girls silent as a tomb. Quickly, Melara tried to hide their astonishment, she curtsied, leaning forward just enough to show her respect, and gave a nod their way. She felt a drop of sweat roll down the nape of her neck under the disquieting gaze of the older boy, no more than fifteen yet more imposing than some of the strongest knights well into adulthood. 

All three of Clegane did not linger more than necessary, contrary to the eyes of the old boy set on Ann. 

Their insignificant meeting weighed onto the four girls, who went on to their intended destination without breaking the silence. 

Ann made an attempt at conversation, meant to sooth the atmosphere and lighten up their mood, but it fell flat as the vision of the burn on the boy's face remained fresh in their minds.

A few hours before, Melara prayed before breaking her fast with cheese on bread and apples.

From normal days, a sort of well adjusted state overcame Melara. She had longed for it for so long. It emerged as the sought out treasure after a time of troubles. 

She liked to think that her prayers at the Sept had been answered, yet the guilt settled as boredom whispered in her ears, and she found herself craving for the dramatics of the past weeks. She tried to stifle her guilt by praying in corners of the Rock. 

Life was agreeable, how could she secretly wish for the undoing of her own peace? 

Dreams were fleeting, melting in with nightmarish visions of her own wrongdoings, and her connection to the creatures did not last long when she tried. She was once again back at the start. In her restlessness, Melara was starting to wrap her head around it, those newfound abilities would grow on her. She needed not to rush into it. Or, perhaps she was being punished. Or, liberated?

Only time will tell. 

Nevertheless, deep in her bones, she felt that something was on the brink to happen.

And, in the splits of this newly acquired peace, the limitations put on her education during her stay at the Rock was deeply felt. Needles, singing, gentle reading, those were things she appreciated in measure. Septa Saranella might turn her mad. Jeyne was the best at pretending that the woman's drawl manner enticed her with the matter of propriety in the scriptures, or that they absolutely did not have that very same lesson a few days prior. 

Not for the first time these past weeks, the thought of education piqued her interest during the long hours.

The girl dismissed Imogen and Claudia quickly one morning, to feel keenly their absence moments later until her father knocked on her door. 

'You grew up far too much in only a few weeks, I can't keep up,' said Tybolt as he put a hand above her head as if to measure her.

Melara flushed, 'It must be the hair.' It did grow a bit since his departure. 

Tybolt reached for one of the oranges sitting on the fruit plate, he peeled it carefully before giving his daughter half of it. 'Actually, I came to ask you one thing.' 

'My father does not simply wish to share breakfast with me any more, so soon?' 

He chuckled.

'I want to know, what do you want?'

'Why? It was not I who fought on the battlefield to free the king.'

Her father came and lightly grabbed her shoulders, his smile widened. 'Lord Tywin Lannister will give you something that you want, anything.'

Melara searched her father's face, she knew him unambitious, content with what fell upon him, much to her late mother's grievance. Now, his eyes glowed under the morning sunlight, she realised that assumption of hers had been false all along. Maybe, it was her mother's words still ringing in between her ears.

'My guts tell me that you may already have an idea.'

Tybolt straightened his back, his hands never leaving her shoulders. 'I believe we, I, should have taken precautions for your future far sooner.'

The girl couldn't stop the corner of her lip twitching. 'I do not blame you for that,' she reached for his hands with her own and gave them a reassuring squeeze. 

'It's not too late. So, tell me, have you given any thoughts–'

'Of course, I have,' she confessed, she stepped away from his grasp, 'but I've given more thoughts to something else entirely.'

The man knitted his brows, his hands not quite loose by his sides, he watched her as she calmly walked in circles around the table and peeped for his reaction. She did not utter a word until he forced himself to relax.

'Tell me, how many have we lost among our ninety men who went to Duskendale?' 

Suspicion seeped in as the father observed her from across the table. 'Thirteen.' 

'And how many have come back crippled?'

'Nearly fifteen, if some do not recover,' admitted Tybolt as he sat down, his daughter would not stop her rotations and some dizziness came the more he watched her.

Her voice reached him again. 'Most are fathers, that leaves women and children without resources. I have an idea that could help many families and myself, in the long-term.'

'What is it?'

Melara came to a halt, placing both of her hands on the handles of her chair, rooting herself and with an unwavering voice, she answered, 'a school, an inn, and ateliers.'

Her father looked exactly like she predicted that he would react, sceptical. 

'Before you shun my idea, listen,' she raised her index to stop him from speaking, 'we must only ask him to fund the renovation of the annex buildings. They've been collecting dust and are filled with rubbish. First, we give the women a place to work on their crafts and trade if they’re proficient, while the children study. Then, pilgrims and artists can stay in exchange for a small rent.'

Tybolt crossed his arms and ankles as he leaned back on his chair. 

'Why would artists be interested in staying here and not in Lannisport?'

'Because, we possess beautiful and alluring heaths that could inspire the most uncreative of artists.'

He laughed as he reminded her that she was only thirteen. 

'Who would be the teachers? The administrators?'

Melara was still quite content that her father was not rebuffing her precocious project, she rested her hands on her hips. 'Septas are knowledgeable, some used to carry noble names, some men do not have the patience to be Maesters but are as qualified,  if we trust Alby's words. Maester Thom surely appreciates us enough to lend us some of his contacts.' 

Her father stifled his laugh, she tried not to feel too offended by it. 

'How did you know that Tywin Lannister would be willing to do us a favour?'

Melara smiled. She brushed off some imaginary dust off her blue skirts, her clammy hands meeting some relief on the smooth and cold fabric.

'Tywin Lannister does not do favours. He pays his debts.' 

As uncomfortable as it was to ask the Warden for anything as exuberant, seeing his daughter as lively and ferociously ambitious reminded him again of Tamora. It gave him some courage to follow her in this endeavour. 

Tamora had tried for years to convince him that their land had potential for far more than what it was used for, he had swept her words under the rug in fear to see more loss than reaping. 

He should have listened to her. 

Listening to his daughter had saved his life once, he had to nourish this new chance. 

'You'll be happy to learn that I've made a request myself.'

Melara tilted her head, patiently waiting for his next words.

'You'll marry the one of your choosing, whether it is in five years or in decades, even when I'm gone.'

Joy seeped through her face, and she enthusiastically thanked him countless times before kissing his cheek.

'You do not wish to marry me off to the most profitable, then?'

Tybolt pinched her cheeks despite her protests.

'I could never live with myself if I did not ensure your happiness.'

Melara wrapped her arms around him.

'Thank you, father.' 

Chapter Text

Sooner than later, on that same day. Tybolt knocked on the door of Tywin Lannister's office. 

'Have you made up your mind?'

'My daughter did.'

The Lord Hand halted his movements, his quill hovering above the parchment, and he finally looked up, arching an eyebrow, waiting for him to speak.

'We wish for you to fund the renovations of old buildings within our land.' 

Tywin let his surprise be seen through, he leaned back into his chair. 

'Plural?'

'Two exactly. A large one enough to accommodate travellers, and a school.' 

Tywin smiled, his air was almost sardonic.  

'Is that your daughter's wish?'

The knight nodded, proud. 

'How do you know you're not overstepping?' challenged the man, he leaned back and crossed his ankles.

'How much does one's life cost? Your life cost?'

'It is priceless,' answered Tywin, truthfully.

'You can agree that our request is reasonable, then,' argued Tybolt. 

Tywin picked up his quill, but he did not launch himself back into his work. 

'I must concede. I'm also curious what your little bird has in mind, so I'll allow that slight impertinence, this once.'

Tybolt walked out of the office with sweaty palms, but he was far too proud to let his working nerves seep through.

Chapter Text

Cersei picked a few bird's-foot trefoils and handed them to Melara.

'Who will attend your academy any way?' 

Melara, careful of not crushing the bright yellow petals in her handling of the flowers, cut neatly the stem and wild leaves.

'Our lost men's children will have a place, of course, and anyone who wishes it.' 

The girls were 'helping' with flower arrangements, Cersei picked them, Melara cut their thorns and Jeyne and Ann sorted them out into small bouquets.

They stood outside under the morning sun's warm coat under the watchful eye of Septa Saranella a few feet away from them as she discussed with Imogen. Servants came and went in between two of the lower baileys to set the decorations. The girls were expecting to see the wild animals in broad daylight but much to their dismay, they remained in cages, hidden from prying eyes with thick sheets tightly attached against the bars. 

'Have you spoken to them, then? What do they think?', inquired Jeyne. 

Melara shook her head, 'I don't want to get ahead of myself, my father and Maester Alby advised me so and there are so many things to take care of until it is ready. I reckon it'd be wise to wait.'

Jeyne nodded, but Melara could see the gears working behind her eyes while she chose which pile she would add the yellow flowers to.

'What is it?'

'I'm thinking that if you wait too long, you might lose your intended attendees. I imagine that people without resources would end up leaving the city.'

Ann gathered a bouquet and tightened a ribbon around the stems, and as much as Melara was used to her silence, she felt like the older girl had words on the tip of her tongue. She watched her until she would spill them. 

'I believe Jeyne might have a point. The city is expensive, they'll only stay if they have family, peers who work. If not, they'll seek employment elsewhere, somewhere to relieve their purse.'

Melara chewed on her bottom lip, she saw their point, but would it not be cruel to inform them of such a project when they might not benefit from it immediately? Or, she could notice them and ask for their patience? The more concrete solution would be to offer a place within their own estate until then, they were not numerous enough for it to be impossible. A stable situation was what they required.

Her thoughts were interrupted as Cersei sighed loudly beside them, collecting petunias before letting Melara take them from her hand. The blonde wasn't even looking at her, instead, she watched ahead of her. 

She nudged Melara.

The girl looked up as she put down a small sharp knife. She raised an eyebrow, inquisitive. 

Cersei looked at her, then, back to what stood a few meters away. 

Not, what, but, who.

'The man has been staring at you for quite some time,' told the girl, a small smug smile spreading across her lips. 

Melara could not help herself, Jeyne and Ann did the same she was sure, and she looked over the mystery man. 

He was handsome, even from a distance. Tall, lean in his armour, with a dark mop of hair upon his head. She flushed as she saw that he was indeed watching her . 

Her eyes shied away, captured by the gleam of her knife's shiny blade. 

She heard the girls laugh at her predicament, despite feeling her ears burning. Her embarrassment grew, knowing that she was turning red before their very eyes.

'He's far too old,' she squeaked, her voice failing her. 

The girls laughed even more, and she dared to look up. It was certain that the man had gathered the source of their hilarity. 

Instead of mockery, the pretty man had a charming smile that he was shamelessly sending her way, as his eyes did not leave her. 

While she couldn't deny that the attention gave a small stroke to her ego, he was indeed far too old to be looking at her like that. Her mother's sermons replayed in her mind.

Melara breathed.

'Aren't we done with the flowers? We should go back to the Rock, I'm famished!'

'I'm sure you are,' commented Cersei.

Melara still felt the warmth enveloping her throat, cheeks, and ears as the girls were unable to contain their laughter. They finally deserted their post.

Jeyne joined in to her torture. 

'Tell us, radish or red beets?'

Their friend groaned, taking grander steps than what was comfortable. 

Septa Lynora and Melara's maids followed them, somewhat confused by the girls' great amusement, to Melara's irritation.

When they quieted down, Ann caught up to her as they walked after Cersei, eager to get them away from the mess behind them.

‘Don’t be embarrassed, we’re just teasing you.’

Melara frowned. ‘I’m not. It’s uncomfortable, that’s all.’

She had to admit to herself that it was pleasing to witness Ann come up to her to clarify. 

Melara could still smell the morning dew all around them, despite the hectic workers gathering their possessions and pacing back and forth. They moved past the gardens where musicians practised in the middle bailey. 

She realised that Cersei was leading them the opposite way of the keep.

To the training grounds, so it seemed. 

Her father had seemed pleased to be able to teach Jaime Lannister, and a part of her was glad for him despite her yearning for the heaths of her home. It'd been far too long since she had been in her mansion, in her very own bed, strolling through her garden and reading in their library. Still, there was another sort of unease that remained churning beneath her composure. One to which she couldn't find words for. 

Well, a word came forward in the back of her mind.

Jealousy . A light greenness had overtaken her. 

What for? Her father and mother had spent all her youngest years raising her into a sensible and gracious dame, and despite her passion, she believed them to have succeeded. Yet, there were times it felt that none of it was enough. Brute force would always win the day. 

No conniving could have prevented her from shredding a man's face to save her father's life. 

Still, that ability remained out of her control. 

She reasoned that she could ask him to teach her, but as of late, the memories of how it felt to be harming someone with her own hands brought her bile up her throat.

Melara inhaled as she caught a glimpse of Jaime.

The boy raised his sword, his hand tight on his pommel, and struck with all his might.

Sounds of iron blades clashing rang out, Melara inwardly cringed at the displeasing screeching. 

The grounds were, understandably so, less crowded, and it was almost a breath of fresh air if it were not for the feeble stench of horses.

Jaime's hair clung to his forehead and cheeks, his nape glistening, and his golden locks shining brighter than anything else she had seen before. She followed with her eyes the pretty pleats falling from his shoulders to his waist.

Her father's encouragement toward the young master cut her thoughts short.

Melara glanced around her to see if anyone had noticed her gawking. 

Jeyne, who stood beside her, had caught it. Her friend tried to bite back a smile as Melara frowned her way and shook her head. Jeyne subtly pointed her toward Ann, who couldn't have looked more enthralled by the Lannister boy. 

Next to her, Cersei looked sour. 

The blonde felt that she was being watched, when she met Melara’s eyes, she composed herself a second later and lingered by Ann’s side just a bit more before walking closer to Melara and Jeyne. 

Ann stood oblivious to Cersei’s disappearance.

‘I think my twin has an admirer,’ whispered Cersei with the slightest curving of her lip corner. 

‘Do you think the interest might be requited?’ inquired Jeyne, eyes sparkling, eager for romantic gossip. 

Cersei flatly responded, ‘I do not know.’

Melara watched Jaime and Ann a bit more, eyes moving back and forth. During the small pause in his mock duel, Jaime’s attention was stirred from his opponent and was instead set on the group of girls. Melara assumed that his eyes stopped ahead of where the three girls stood, where Ann remained.

‘Perhaps, she just needs a little push,’ stated Melara.

Cersei, too, was watching them with peculiar interest. One of her hands tightly gripped the fabric of her skirt on the side out of prying eyes. 

‘Perhaps, she does,’ agreed the girl.

Melara and Jeyne spoke their ideas away, trying to find the most romantic ways to help the lovebirds find each other.

Jaime had started sparring with the older boy of House Clegane, and what the lion lacked in build, he made up in stealth.

Cersei seethed the days later, she let the anger simmer but never show. It didn't slip while she spoke and played with her twin, nor while she spent time with the girls, nor while they listened to the sermons of the septa that Melara and Ann diligently paid attention to. 

And certainly not while she walked away as she pretended to have a stomach ache.

Chapter Text

Maggy the Frog set camp with other merchants on the grounds of Casterly Rock, where none of the treasures were visible to the small folk's eyes. Only a distant sound of the waves gave a hint to the marvellous view of the sea not so far from there. 

She expected to see the duo which had sought for her for thrills any time soon, but they were not her purpose. Today, she was only a woman reading cards to soothe the worries and confirm the suspicions of gentle girls, in exchange for coins. 

She'll meet the peace of her hut before the morrow's sunrise. 

Fate loved to tease, and the brunette girl, who attracted troubles more than meat baited dogs, soon stumbled upon her tent.

'Fortune telling? Truly?' 

Maggy let out a grunt, as if she was displeased by the unforeseen coming, before Melara. 

'A woman must eat, you know.'

Melara peeked outside, only a few passersby walked about and her little troupe far from sight. She pulled on the pooling dark fabrics to enclose the space. 'I mean no offence when I say this, but you’re being careless, if Cersei recognises you, I doubt she'll leave you be. We haven't spoken of your prophecies, but I did not like your cruel lie, it must be very much the same for her. '

Maggy sat down in a moth-eaten wooden chair, a small table in worse state stood between them. A deck of cards laid at the centre. 'You did not confer against the mean witch in the woods? I thought you had reconciled.'

The girl froze, growing pink from her mockery. 

'There was no rift to begin with.'

With a trained indifference, Maggy's face was blank when she replied, 'I must have seen wrong, then.'

Melara frowned, perplexed by her response. A hint of doubt,  long ago buried, reignited with so few little words. She brushed it off.

'I don't have dreams any more,' announced the girl. 

'I thought they frightened you?' 

'Still, it doesn't make any sense, I could see things as they happened, I collapsed, they thought it was a pup's bite, but I know it had nothing to do with it. Now what I can do and see is…dwindling,' retorted Melara. She just wanted to draw some logic onto this disturbing affair.

Maggy remained impassive.

'Tiring yourself is pointless, visions can become blurry. Patience is all you'll have for now.'

That did little to appease Melara, she was ready to leave when Maggy called out her name, 'I do hope your long sleep was good enough, would you care for a small reading into your future?'

Tempted, Melara turned on her heels. The woman was smiling as if she knew the outcome no matter what.

She should leave, she told herself. It had brought her no good in the past. However, curiosity was a long-sustained condition of hers, and despite knowing better, she found herself sitting down. 

Maggy reached for the cards, Melara took the opportunity to observe her, as she hadn't looked at the woman properly when she had been in her company in the dark hut. The middle-aged witch with strands of white hair, stark against her dark hair, took the deck with her wrinkled hands, and started to shuffle. Only the sounds of the thick papers mixing filled the tent, with the occasional laughs and talk of unsuspecting people passing by outside.  

The witch's voice, no louder than a bird, struck Melara's eardrums like the incessant horns on a weekday morning in the port. 

'Any particular concern, little dame?'

Carefully, Melara shook her head, speaking would give the witch something to start with. The girl realised she might feed her anxieties. She wished to hear what she had to say without any interventions.

Perhaps, it had all been a fraud. Perhaps, she wasn't seeing anything because she had never seen anything. If her luck had run out, she was afflicted with delusions. 

'Suit yourself,' Maggy spread three stacks of the seventy cards on the table with a quick hand, 'pick as many cards as you wish, from each spread.'

Melara stared at the plain cards, their back a dull brown, and if there were any ornamentals to their design, it had all faded away.  After some observation, she picked the cards that she felt the most drawn to.

She singled out two cards from the first line, three from the second, and another from the last. 

Maggy snorted, ‘you’re ridiculously predictable!’ 

The younger girl arched an eyebrow, vexed by the witch. 

‘Seven cards, very well, that’ll do.’

The witch turned the cards over, and despite their backs, the drawings rivalled the ones she’s seen in manuscripts of the Rock’s library. The woman focused on the cards, Melara tried to make sense of what was presented to her.

The witch whispered their names.

The Hanged man was the first, in second came the Tower, burning, as the third card was the Magician in reverse. The Eight of swords, the witch called the fourth, showed a blinded girl stuck in between blades. The Five of cups followed, a masculine figure stood among empty chalices. Then, the Knight of swords, and Strength reversed. 

Maggy remained silent before the cards, eyeing them carefully, to the point Melara grew to regret not leaving at all. Foolish, foolish girl, she chastised herself in her head, how could she have stayed when her first visit to that witch caused so much pain. Melara started to stand up from her chair, the witch grabbed her wrist with a grip as strong as steel. She sat back down. 

The girl stared at her, frightened.

'Quick, pick one more card.'

'Why? Can't see clearly?' barked the girl,offended by the use of force.

The witch slowly tore her eyes from the cards to look at her.

'Cards are just tools, nothing will be as precise than a drop of blood, unless you wish to let me-'

'No.' 

Reluctantly, Melara picked a card without thinking it over. 

The Hermit, a seven pointed star in his lantern showed his way, as the figure held onto his cane, came out.

'So? Speak, I'll tread cautiously around your words,' said Melara after a moment of silence overcame the witch again, she was too curious to leave now. 

The witch finally let go of her arm, leaned in her chair, her head resting backwards. She exhaled, as if the ordeal was exhausting, Melara made no comment. 

With a renewed focus, the witch focused on the girl before her. 

'Violence is on its way, a mountain of it, I'm not sure if it's coming for you . The situation could have been prevented if you were more in control of yourself, if you didn't deny yourself power. You'll find yourself stuck in-between, as it is your forte. Deceit, betrayal is at your door, but you'll show courage, and it will get you nowhere at first,' the woman leaned in as her voice lowered, 'I can give you a piece of advice, little one, do you want to hear it?' 

Slowly, Melara nodded, her fists were grasping onto the arms of her chair like a lifeline, the words of the witch and how her voice carried them scared her beyond belief. It was as if the outside world faded away, rooting her on her spot. Outside the tent, no sounds of the folk came, no steps, no cries nor whispered words. Only the sound of the light wind caressing the tent.

'Watch for the predators, do not fall prey.'

Better be someone else than thou , the words resonated in her mind, and that made her shoot her up from her seat. She looked at the woman in horror. 

'How did you do that?'

Maggy reunited the cards together, unfazed by the little girl's reactions. 

'Do what?'

Melara tilted her head, in disbelief. She turned on her heels to leave before the witch cleared her throat. The girl stopped, turning toward her again.

'It is the second time I've told you about your future, payment is due.'

Melara reached for her purse, tossing some coins on the table before leaving the tent without looking back. 'Goodbye.'

'Farewell, little one.'

The cacophony of the outdoors gave her shills, a far cry from the growing eerie silence that came about underneath that tent. She looked around, making sure she had not been noticed. Melara wished to hit her head against a wall, she should not have walked inside, she should have never sought out that witch. 

Melara took a moment to breathe, 'may my defiling of the Seven be worth something,' she whispered as she let herself muse over the reading.

Who could betray her? She cared about too many, the list was long, and hurtful to think about. Yet, how could she live with herself if she hid at home, facing the most painful notions of life was a necessary evil for a fulfilled one. Despite the uncertainty she felt around Maggy, she could not cast aside the words of that witch, even if she wished for another outcome. Melara thought it through as she made her way into the busiest area of the festival, she could only wait and observe, and act accordingly when the time came. She'll have to make the best decision, what's a little heartache in the long life she had ahead of her? 

However, she was worried. Better be someone else than herself? 

Did that mean that for her to be unscathed, someone will have to take her place? Or was it the other way around? 

The irony did not escape her. A life for a life, the witch had once said. 

Still, Melara noted one thing, no truly ill fortune was meant for her.

'Patience and prudence will do,' she told herself out loud, the words unnoticed in the chaos of laughter and lights.

'Melara!' 

Jeyne, Ann and Cersei accompanied by the septa and knights, all for the little lady Lannister alone, called for her.

'Where were you?! We've been looking for you all over,' complained Cersei.

The girl looked at them all apologetically. 'Sorry I was distracted by the bookbinding stall, the crafts were wondrous, and I wished to see the process!'

The explanation seemed enough, and Jeyne crossed her arm with her as they continued their promenade, they had the entire afternoon ahead of them. 'There's an open-air spectacle about to start,' explained her friend. 

'What is it about?'

'Lann the Clever and his prowesses,' she answered.

Melara kept herself from snorting, 'how original,' she whispered to only Jeyne. They let out quiet laughs, only their shoulders betrayed them.

Cersei turned toward them, suspicion filling her eyes. 'What amuses you so much?'

Jeyne only shook her head.

'We are merely excited to see the play.'

The blonde girl did not seem convinced, she let go, eager to sit down after looking for one of her companions for so long.

Jeyne leaned again, speaking in low tones, 'she's prickly because her brother chose to spend his day with Tyrion.'

'Duly noted,' retorted Melara. 

Ann made sure to be able to sit at the end of their bench, claiming to fear feeling stuffy in the narrow space. Away from parasite noises, the open-air play took place at the very far end of the field, a big stage had been installed, all preparations remained hidden by thick velvet curtains. So many were present that not all were guaranteed places to sit. 

Cersei looked relieved to remain as far from the small folk as possible, a grimace at the verge of making itself shown whenever she peered over the audience. 

It did not take long after their arrival for the show to commence. Velvet curtains were lifted, to reveal the colossal wooden decor replicating the cliff which Casterly Rock sat upon. 

A thin, tall blonde man made his entrance. Handsome, even pretty.

He kneeled before the audience, and called for the Sun.

'I, Lannister, plead for you. Gift me gold for my hair, and I'll take this abode for thou and abide by your rules.' 

Musicians started their melody, cords, and drums. They swelled the air with anticipation as the audience all waited at the edge of their seats. Drums of triumph resonated five times as a woman dressed in gold came out of the shadows, with a hand hidden behind her back and a lit up torch in her other one. She advanced, silent as the man waited, unsuspecting of the force behind him. The Sun revealed the wreath of wheat mounted on a tall golden iron crown to all. 

When she made the move to place it upon his head, she brought the torch to it, its flame spreading to the wreath. They all gasped as she put the burning crown upon Lann.

The wreath burned, Lann untouched by its fire. Musicians remained focused on their tune, until the wreath burned to crisp and curtains were pulled until the next scenes. 

With his golden head, Lann buttered himself and sought an entry through the cracks of the rocks, until one cleft brought him inside. 

Inside Casterly Rock, one by one, the house that it was home to descended into madness from Lann's schemes, all turned comical for them. He wooed the prettiest of the Casterly daughters into helping him. She had gone mad, seeing her sisters losing themselves one by one until there were none but her, Calista Casterly asked deities for deliverance. It was Lann who answered her prayers. 

'I have no reason to doubt him, he's blessed by the Sun itself,' she confessed to the audience, lying on the stage, she watched the sky, 'my kin is losing itself, he'll allay our troubles.'

Calista called for him, Lann came. 

The finale was about to start when Melara noticed Ann leaving her seat. 

The Caron girl stopped her from following her.

'Please, do not miss any of it, I only need to step out for a moment, I'll meet you after, you'll tell me all about it,' whispered Ann. 

Melara agreed, trying to quell her worries as she thought of the witch. She made a deal with herself to check up on her if she did not come back before the end of the play.

Lann and Calista came back, his schemes ensued, Calista latched onto him for her sanity as her peers fell one by one around her.

The music grew sombre. Drums and cords resonated intense and mighty to a point of dissonance.

'I am the bride of a god,' claimed Calista, standing on top of the cliff, 'sire of my growing flesh and blood, come to me.'

Despite all of her hopes, Ann had still not returned. 

Melara knew better than to scrap the witch's predictions, she felt that it was her call to check. 

She mumbled an excuse to Jeyne who sat beside her and left without waiting for an answer.  

In her search, Ann was nowhere to be seen among the crowds. It did not take long for Melara to venture in places away from the public eyes, in-between, and behind stalls where she caught glimpses of scandalous encounters, where standing torches were lit and used as meeting points. She grew irritated the more her search proved to be unsuccessful. 

She feigned ignorance when she caught the attention of Jaime and Tyrion accompanied by their uncle Kevan and his wife, Dorna. In her rush to scramble out of their way, that's when she heard it, a cry. 

However, the Lannisters were too close for them to not hear it too. She quickly followed the sound, knowing aptly that whatever she would find, the Lannister men and boys would know it too. There was no time to think if it was for the best or worst.

Another cry came about, and Melara raced to it. 

She found herself before that same tent where the girls and herself had spent time arranging flowers in. 

The red fabrics now embroidered with an orange rose, a fire lit up the entrance she noticed. 

She rushed inside, despite feeling her heart in the palms of her hands in fear, as she grasped the curtains and pushed them aside. Melara hoped to come face to face with no more dead, she prayed to the Seven for Ann, whoever it might be, to be alright. 

The truth unravelled before her. 

No sensational bouquets, no floral scents, not one sweet flower could cover the ugly scene.

A mountain would be a fairer word to describe the monstrosity of the boy who pressed Lady Ann to the ground, her face bloodied, and her dress in tatters. 

Her teary eyes met Melara's, she called out her name in a plea.

She made sure to be loud. 'Unhand her this instant!' 

His grin terrified her, and she came to realise that he had already had his way with Ann, he was taunting her for his amusement. 

Gregor Clegane let go of Ann, who quickly sat up and attempted to cover herself to save her dignity. 

Yet, Dignity was unknown to Gregor as he stood shamelessly without his briefs, he marched on toward Melara. She stepped backwards, grasping one of the iron torches tightly with both hands, wielding it his way. 

The fire kept on burning.

'You think this would stop me?' 

'Coward,' she called him in her rage, she hoped to lure him out and save Ann some time to disappear. Melara stood well past the threshold of the tent, anyone nearby would see her, 'will you ever face someone of your size?'

He lifted an arm, intending to drag Melara back inside, but he was stopped by the tip of a blade that brushed just barely against his skin. 

'Is that the conduct of a future knight?' 

Dorna Lannister came up to Melara and forced the torch out of her hands, when Melara's eyes drifted from Gregor back to Ann, the girl wept on the cold ground of the tent. Flowers filled the place, their odour sickened them in a room filled with mirth forever unsullied by the crime of a man. 

When Dorna followed her gaze, she let out a horrified cry. Her husband, still singling out the half-dressed brute, demanded explanations. 

Melara barely registered that they had an audience, with Jaime, and Tyrion on the front row. 

She rushed back inside, Dorna followed her, the woman pulled the curtains to offer privacy to the girls. The Lannister saw the damage done, and she peered back outside and demanded for a cloak. 

Melara did not know how to give comfort in this situation, she dared not touch her, and all her sentences felt vapid before the gravity of the moment. 

'Tell me what you need, I'll provide it immediately,' she offered, but Ann only nodded. 

Dorna Lannister kneeled beside the wounded girl, allowing her some time to gather herself.

'My child, once we have the cloak, we'll bring you back to the Rock, you will have some rest.'

Ann had no voice, she moved her head to answer. 

The sight of it pained her, then, she truly wished she could harm Gregor.

Pierce his skin like she had ruined the face of that knight weeks prior.

Kevan and Clegan were not in front of the tent when they came out, Ann was wrapped in a cloak, her face hidden by the cap as Dorna did not let go of her. Jaime and Tyrion remained, the young one confused by the happenings but knowing better not to ask.

They followed them quietly behind. 

The walk to the keep felt longer than it actually was, and remained as silent as a tomb.

However, words spread fast, and by nightfall, their circles knew all of what occurred in that tent. 

Chapter Text

The sight of her was ghastly, ghosts were thought to be more colourful. 

Ann was tended to by Septa Lynora and a midwife she discreetly brought in. The girls caught sight of her in the room during the comings and goings of that said woman.

‘There’s no use staying here, we’re only confirming suspicion,’ stated Cersei, annoyed to remain posted like a guard in her own home. 

Melara’s eye twitched, ‘what do you suppose we do, then?’

Jeyne observed the two of them, still on alert.

Cersei leaned against the wall. ‘We go back, and act as if nothing had happened to her.’

This time, Jeyne couldn’t hide her disapproval. 

‘Do you truly have the heart to celebrate when Ann is reduced to this?’

The lioness shrugged. ‘Do you suggest we remain here and lament over something we cannot change?’

Melara wanted to say yes. She huffed, gathering the attention of Cersei who waited for her to speak with squinting eyes.

'Your father must have been made aware by now, they'll never let us leave. Not tonight at the very least.'

'Keen observation, Hetherspoon,' confided a voice behind her, assured and with some hint of dry amusement. They all turned. 

Tywin stepped forward. Kevan and Tybolt arrived a moment later. Jaime tailed after them, unnoticed by all. His brother was gone, entertained by their uncle Gerion over supper.

'I hope that the three of you have an explanation, as you seem to be proficient in escaping the septas and maids' surveillance with such prowess.'

Beside Melara, Cersei remained impassive as Jeyne sweated over the accusation.

His daughter spoke up. 

'We were unaware of Ann's plans to meet with Gregor Clegane, father.' 

Tywin raised an eyebrow, his head tilted backwards ever so slightly. 

'Is that what you have to say for yourself? Once is an accident, twice is insubordination. Do you think I was clueless about your outings to the sea by yourselves.'

The three girls remained silent, they hadn't even considered their descent to the coast to be indecent. Tywin did not relent.

'I'm starting to doubt the good influence of your companions, Cersei.'

The blonde's nails dug into the palms of her hands.

'How is this about me? Ann kept her rendez-vous to herself.' 

The Warden seemed inclined to continue to argue with his daughter. Melara's blazing eyes had him turning to her instead.

'My lord, your daughter is right, none of us could have known. However, you cannot smear Ann's name, or ours, because of the wrongdoings of your subordinate,' she closed her fist and braced herself, 'you are Hand of the Realm, you should be serving justice.'

Behind Tywin, her father gave her a disapproving look, Melara ignored it, choosing to face the contempt of Lord Lannister. 

'I'm grateful for the reminder, little girl,’ spitting on her would have been more polite than the way he addressed her as the words spilt out of his mouth with a biting tone,'will you enlighten us all on your role in this, yet another one, misadventure?' 

All eyes were on her. Melara only watched the Lannister men, from their golden jewellery, the hair of wheat, and the shine on the spot starting to bald on Tywin's scalp. What had been shoulder-length hair in the past had thinned and shortened. The mighty lion was turning into an old one.        

'Quite simple, we watched the play, Ann stepped out without further explanations, I went to follow her after some time, searched for her until I did find her.' 

'Why leave and not ask your maid to find her?'  

'I didn't think it through,’ said Melara in earnest, ‘I hoped for her to go back before the end of the play, it would have been a shame to miss the finale. Then, you could say, my intuition made me do it.' 

'That's becoming recurrent. Your intuition brought you to one tent amongst the hundreds of others and made you threaten the heir of House Clegane?'

'With an iron torch,' added Melara before she titled her head a little as she searched for an excuse, 'the brashness of youth, my lord.'  

A silence ensued.

Tybolt was growing red behind the lion, who eyed her as if he was seeing her for the first time. Melara knew that she would come to regret any of this, but she felt satisfaction as she watched the men be uncomfortable under her scrutiny.  

Kevan apprehended his brother's reaction, occasionally glancing toward Tybolt. Only, then, did he notice his nephew standing in the shadows, witnessing the sharp exchanges with an attention he only cared to give during his training.  

Slowly, Tywin turned to her father. 

'I did not recall Tamora to be as audacious as she is, what do you say?' 

Hetherspoon looked down at his feet, apologies scrambling out of his mouth. 'My daughter has had a very long day, the shock of the scene got to her, my lord.' 

The Lord Hand looked at the petulant girl one last time, before sliding his attention to his own blood.

'It is late. They must be tired indeed. They'll go back to their beds, and they shall be grateful that they remained uncompromised. Kevan, make sure to see Cersei and Jeyne Farman safe in their rooms. Tybolt, I hope your daughter will know more about discipline the next time we meet.'

Tywin bid farewell to his brother and Sir Hetherspoon. He did not spare any words to his son as he walked past him. Still, Jaime followed his footsteps, until they reached an empty corridor where Tywin stopped in his tracks and asked, 'what is it?' 

For the first time, Jaime noted the exhaustion exuding from his father. 

'What will be done?'

His father faced him.

'Are you speaking of the girl or the boy?'

'Both Ann and Gregor.'

He considered the young boy for a moment, doubting his intentions.

'Don't tell me you were enamoured with her?'

'Not at all, I, too, wonder how justice will be served,' answered his honest boy.

Tywin let out a sigh, one could debate that it was entirely made of relief, before he walked closer to Jaime. The thirteen-year-old boy already reached his shoulders, making him taller than the other boys in his training lessons. He placed a firm hand on his shoulder. The opportunity dawned on Tywin.

'With the most practical mind. You have to understand the peace between vassals must be maintained, situations like the one today are the most unpleasant, because it is the lord that will settle it.'

Jaime narrowed his green eyes, understanding looming over his head, but he hoped for something else. 'Gregor must be punished, you know that.' 

Tywin's grasp tightened around his shoulder, as he did not cower before the judgement of his son.

'Both lords must be content. That Clegane boy is promised to become an excellent knight. He’ll be greatly valuable to us.'

'There's nothing honourable about him. He's a beast, terrorising his own family,' spat Jaime. 

'You must let go of your fantasies, you're no longer a boy who can play with his wooden toys and read about the age of heroes. Cleganes would not be the first family with their own monsters.'

Jaime nearly pushed him away, but his father saw right through him, and caught his other shoulder with his other hand. 

'House Caron will be very happy to see the cause of Lady Ann's ruin gallivanting about the Rock.'

In the dark, Tywin's face appeared to him only in between the flickers of the flames lighting the way, for a split moment, Jaime thought to see guilt cross his father's face.

'There'll be no offence to be taken, because there's proof that it was Lady Ann's initiative to meet with Ser Gregor. His father showed me the note Gregor received.'

Jaime snorted.

'Who thought you'd be daft as a brush to believe it.'

Tywin shook him by moving one hand by the back of his neck, forcing him to look at him.

'Understand, it's not about the truth. It is about what's best for all of us.'

The young boy tried and failed to hide his contempt, 'what about the girl?'

'If Gregor takes responsibility, the matter will be settled quickly. If he does not, a compensation will appease her Lord father, and the task of suggesting the best betrothal possible for the girl and her circumstances. If she's to be with child, she'll be destined to a motherhouse.'

His father let go of him. Jaime felt discomfort at the knowledge of Ann's muddy future.

He felt for her, despite being no more than an acquaintance with the Lady he considered to be the least insufferable companion of Cersei. Ann wept the whole back.

He could hardly envision the genteel lady seeking out the brute of House Clegane. Jaime replayed his day again, and inside his mind, could there have been a way to stop it? Would it have been enough if he had paid attention, to notice Lady Ann being on her own? If Melara had left the play earlier? If Gregor had faced consequences for his past bad deeds?

'What a Hand you are,' conceded Jaime, without sparing his father another look, the boy left Lord Lannister for his own chambers.

Melara and Tybolt Hetherspoon reached her guest chambers, with none of the merry that usually came along with them. Instead, a grave look etched onto the features of the Ser as his hand wrapped around his daughter's arm. 

He was angry, a rare occurrence, but so was Melara. Imogen, who had prepared her a bath and her nightshift, was nowhere to be found in her room, to her relief.

'What were you thinking?!'

'He was blaming me, us, Ann! When there's only one at fault,' cried Melara, 'I'm right to be upset!'

'Not in front of the Warden of the West and Lord Hand, no.' 

Melara seethed, but she bit her tongue, she merely wished to wash up and slip into bed. 

'I will remember from now,' announced the girl. 

'Especially if he's to be funding your projects,' pushed her father. As she made no move to counter him, he relaxed, he had no more energy to fight than her. 'I'm glad you are faring well, but what if it had been you–'

'What if it had been me,' repeated Melara, 'would you tell me it was my fault?'

Tybolt sat down and watched his hand, balancing whether he should voice it or not.

'No, I don't think so. However, in Lady Ann's case, she will likely be considered as such. She called for him to meet her.'   

Melara stood upright, her attention solely focused on her father.

'What could you mean by that?'

'She passed a note to Gregor Clegane,' he added.

Melara sat down on her bed, the mattress's softness did nothing to soothe her nerves. After some hesitation, she opted to not share her opinion. Lady Ann, the same one who blushed every time Jaime Lannister looked her way for multiple seconds and rarely ever voiced her feelings about the most mundane of things, would have arranged a secret rendezvous with none other than Gregor Clegane? 

The ridiculousness of such a prospect was far too insulting to be entertained a moment more, if not for Ann's dignity, than one's intelligence.  

The card reading crossed her mind, foul play seemed obvious. 

Nonetheless, Melara faced a dead-end as she tossed in her bed, because no one could ever loathe Ann enough to carry out the insidious machinations she fell victim to. 

She still clung to the hope that there could be another reason why a boy would choose to break her this way than just his own will. 

Melara tried to sleep, she truly did. The quietness of the room pressed on her until she grew far too conscious about it, only the distant sound of the sea made it tolerable. Her mind kept going, she had spent enough time in the Rock to know when the corridors must have been cleared, they would certainly not waste guards on her door. She could take a night stroll, she reasoned as she sat up on her bed, slowly as if not to break the silence that made her uncomfortable until now, put on slippers and slipped a robe on to cover herself.  

It would merely be a happenstance that she walked by Ann's room. 

Once outside her chambers, Melara came to realise that she had never ventured into the keep at night on her very own. There were little lights on the wing she and her father had been put in, one flame that fought to show the way. Little windows scattered here and there, through which the sea air would seep in and made it unbearably cold on this very night.

The darkness plates tricks on her, it flooded the corridors of stone, and one flicker from a torch would frighten her into believing that the ghost tales were true. As soundlessly as she could, she headed where she needed to be.

Until she came across a blonde mane, her friend was venturing out too, this very night.

‘Melara!’, half-whispered Cersei, eyes grown wide, and her eyebrows pinched together, ‘what are you doing?’

‘I could ask you the same,’ whispered back the girl.

Cersei crossed her arms over her robe, 'it is my keep, I can circulate however I wish.'

Melara's eyes dimmed in disappointment, hurt over being thought a fool.
'Your father sent us to bed.'

The Lannister rolled her eyes.

'He was upset over my potential ruin, I just needed to get out of my room, I should be able to roam free in my own home like any of my brothers and uncles, no?' 

Melara's small resentment diminished by the second, giving space to guilt. She looked around, making sure that no one was coming their way. 

'You're right,' she admitted, and Cersei's shoulders subtly relaxed, Melara had noticed the change by her giant shadow on the wall as a torch nearby flickered slowly. 'It's been a long day, and certainly not a good one. I wanted to speak with Ann, she must feel so alone, and none of this makes sense.'

The blonde sighed and placed both of her hands on Melara's shoulders, gentle, until her nails dug in a bit too deep to be comforting. 'Let me be plain, it's a bad idea. She's in a state of shock, last I've heard from a maid. Let her collect herself for some time, we'll go and see her together when we get the chance.'

Melara remained silent, pondering over the whispered words. Cersei hummed, awaiting her agreement, as she kept her grip on her. The girl searched for her gaze, tilting her head to the side to prompt her to answer.

Melara hesitantly nodded.

'Perhaps, then. Let's go back to our rooms before they find us.'

Cersei agreed and hooked her arm with Melara's, the two girls walked away from the light. Their silhouettes engulfed by the dark of the keep. 

In that same darkness they were about to part, Cersei's voice breached the quiet bubble Melara had taken solace in.   

'We must look after each other.'

Melara immediately acquiesced, a small smile spreading across her lips.

'Of course we will,' she let her arm go after squeezing lightly on her hand, 'sweet dreams, Cersei.'

Melara turned to her own path, Cersei's words echoed lightly behind her.

'Sleep well, Melara.'

Letting go was a foreign notion. 

Some boring days inside, yet not a peep about Ann nor from her, as if the girl had ceased to exist.

Nights later, Melara ventured outside her room again. More careful, more aware of her surroundings, and able to distinguish a step from the crackle of the flames lighting the corridors. 

A wooden folding stool remained beside Ann's door, but no guard filled its seat. 

At least, she was not the only one being foolish, considered Melara. 

She lightly knocked on Ann's door. She cringed as the sound of her knuckles hitting the wood echoed down the corridor far more than she intended.

It did not take long for the door to slowly open, its hinges breaking again the quiet of the Rock. Through the crack, Ann's brown eyes struck Melara, the girl had grown red and puffy. She tried not to stare at the ghastly sight of her cracked lip and bruises over the tender skin of her cheeks and neck.

'Melara?' whispered Ann, her voice no louder than the squeak of a mouse nor as smooth as she knew her to be. The surprise was crystal clear, from her voice to her face.

Melara glanced sideways. 

'May I enter?'

Ann had no strength to protest, she let her in, and went back to the comfort of her bed where the sheets covered her entirely. 

'I'm sorry to disturb your rest,' started Melara who quietly closed the door behind her.

Underneath her layers, Ann's dryless laugh died promptly. 

'I was having none, do not fret.'

Melara bit her lips, she had come on a whim, now faced with the fact that she was seeking answers from someone she wasn't so close with. Ann's reputed patience was absent.

'Be out with it, I'm not fine as you can see, why else are you here?'

She swallowed her shame, and took on some courage.

'I wanted to know…', her words failed her this once, she persevered nonetheless, 'if I were to be blunt, how did it happen?' 

Ann wiped a tear before it could fall, reminiscing made the girl tremble. By now, all she had was rage before it plummeted into despair. Ann leaned further into the springer. 

'How I ended up there or how did he do it?', she spat back.

Then, Melara noticed how dry her lips were. She searched for a water jug on a table nearby and served it before giving it to her. Ann accepted wordlessly.

Melara moved to sit down by the end of her bed, unmoved by her anger.

'Before he did anything. You were carrying out a purpose, and I don't think you would ever see him willingly, so I merely wonder what you meant to do.'

Ann looked down at her cup. 

'What's the point? What's done is done, I was stupid to believe this note.'

Melara frowned. 'You received a note?' 

She gave a nod.

Her immediate response came, 'may I see it, please?'

Ann stared at her, Melara knew she must seem inconsiderate, but she held her gaze with pleading eyes. The girl thought for a moment.

'Lucky you, I left it here,' Ann reached behind her and slid her hand underneath a pillow, she handed the small parchment to Melara who took it without too much eagerness, 'would have been ruined like my dress had I kept it on me,' added Ann in flat derision. 

Melara couldn't hide the pity in her eyes before she cast them down to the root of the catastrophe. 

Meet me in the tent where flowers bloomed, clothed by an orange rose, where I'll profess all of my admiration on the first day of the festivities, before sunset.

-J.L  

'Could it be that you thought you would be meeting…'

'Jaime? So had I hoped, I couldn't think of anyone else,' continued Ann.

His name hung between them, wrapping the two girls in heavy silence. Melara stared at the note, the writing too familiar, so recognisable that it would be madness for her to even suggest and voice the passing thought out loud. It would have been too easy, it certainly would have made no sense at all. 

'Did you tell them about it?' 

Ann vehemently shook her head, her eyes widening in terror. 'Absolutely not. They'll tell my father.'

'Surely, if you explain, he'll understa–'

'I'm already guilty, don't you understand?'

Melara had nothing to say for herself, Ann pressed on, 'you might think me a dimwit, but I know that I'll be no more than a wench in his eyes. I've sullied both myself and my family's name the moment I went to meet the one behind such forward overtures. My father cannot claim that there's been a violation of his property,' the words spilled from her mouth, raw and hurt as tears ran free down her cheeks, 'it'll do us no good to delusion ourselves like that. We've outgrown the courtly tales of love and chivalry, don't you understand?' 

The girl at the end of the bed was speechless. 

Slowly, she nodded.

'I suppose I was being naive, I'm sorry,' she looked down at the note sitting on her lap, and fidgeted with her own robe's details, 'I could never understand your distress, but either way, you were not to be blamed.'

'I'll take the burn for it, nonetheless,' stated Ann, her voice less biting, losing herself into her own thoughts. 

Standing up from the bed, Melara handed her back the cursed note.

'I kept you from resting for too long, I'll pray for your fast recovery and peace. If you need, ask for me, I know that Jeyne would also like to hear from you.'

Ann looked away, and bobbed her head up and down.

'Thank you for your concern, you may get rid of it, it will serve me nothing.'

Melara brought her hand back to her side, the note crumpled slightly underneath her grasp.

'Very well, good night, Ann.'

'Goodbye, Melara,' said Ann as the girl reached for the door.

Chapter Text

Ann refused any visits the following days.

On their third attempt, septa Saranella sermonised them about leaving her be. 'You cannot associate yourselves with her, her father will come for her very soon.'

These words were more likely destined for Cersei, the septa still looked pointedly at Jeyne and Melara. With half of the kindness they knew from her, her eyes were all too accusing.

Despite her efforts, Melara grew on her guards, within the Rock where she remained attached by Jeyne's hip, they did not dare to venture out and would spend their days in the tearoom albeit it bored Cersei to death. The little lioness spent her suppers begging to be allowed outside and join the festivities before it ended, but to no avail. Her mood sunken as the days passed, they could hear the laughter and the music by the windows, nagging them with what they were missing. 

Melara grew quieter, too. Restless by the uncertainty that shadowed Cersei's presence, she was doubting every of her words, and worried when she looked at her a beat too long. 

She knew she could not feel comfortable in a room with her old childhood friend, she longed for Jeyne's ignorance. She had to take this matter into her own hands.

Finding Jaime wasn't hard. 

They knew his schedule by heart by now through Cersei's mouth, she was not aware of how much she'd reveal within their conversations. Melara realised, maybe Ann had sought Jaime on her own someday, and he'd been open enough for her to be unsuspicious of a supposed initiative of his to meet in private.  

She discarded her ponder when she caught Jaime's figure slipping outside the library.

Melara walked up to the unassuming boy.

'Jaime!'

She almost sounded too happy to see him, she regained her composure, 'had a good morrow?'

His green eyes assessed her, growing suspicious by the second. 

'I had, until now.' 

With a flick of her hand, she ignored his lack of finesse and courtesy. 

'Your hostility wounds me,' jested Melara, 'what could have made your day better than our meeting?' 

The accusation in his eyes did not budge, it even strengthened, still, he entertained her.

'My mathematics lessons.' 

His voice filled with pride, he did not think twice about the way Melara's smile widened ever so slightly.

'Have they?', she asked as her eyes widened, and her eyebrows worked their way up, all just enough to seem genuine, 'you know I've always wondered if my Maester Alby has been going easy on me, would you care to show me what your preceptors teach you?'

Without much surprise, Jaime pressed himself to present her his notes, gloating about his thorough teachings.

'Surely, your Maester must have shown you such basics?' 

The maths, finance history and instruments described weren't at debutante levels by any means. Melara let him boast. Her eyes drifted back to his notes and a pang of slight anguish took over as she peered over his writing, not at all resembling what was on the cursed note which she kept hidden in her skirts. 

'Sadly, he has not,' she admitted. Maester Alby had been introducing her to accounting and the basic arithmetics, but Jaime needed not to know, after all, he wasn't very pleasant around her. 'Thank you very much for this enlightening discovery, Jaime.'

Her smile waned quickly.

Without waiting for his reply, she turned around, and walked away in haste.  

The twins could not have the very same handwriting, so it seemed.

Melara plainly avoided everyone the next day.

She remained disgusted by her discovery, and by the sheer shamelessness surrounding it. 

Her father had expected to see her delighted when he came to tell her that Cersei had made Tywin bent to her whim. They were meant to attend the animal entertainments and duels. 

She feigned satisfaction before pretexting to be in need of resting.

Melara did not have to rely upon foresight to know that a very tedious day waited for her at the sunrise.

Chapter Text

Melara dragged herself out of bed after contemplating the mess that was lying ahead of her. As she went through her ablutions, she realised that she had no idea how she would see the day done. No dreams assured her of a future. All that was certain at the moment, was that she would seek that witch again.

With a teal shift draping over her body, Melara laced up her ochre kirtle before Imogen and Claudia stepped inside.

'You're becoming an early bird,' remarked the oldest maid before glancing down at her attire, 'very good choice, mistress.'

Melara greeted them and shrugged her shoulders, 'I feel like it's going to be a very long day.'

'Don't tell me about it,' quipped Claudia while she pulled the bedsheets off the mattress and shoved them in her basket. Imogen gave her a pointed look, Melara only chuckled.

'Dawn has been animated…Lord Caron arrived, we could hear him from our quarters,' admitted Imogen. The maid reached for Melara's dark hair, detangling it swiftly with a brush. 

'He woke us up with his screaming, you mean,' corrected Claudia, and Melara then noticed the shadows under her eyes.

'Once we go back to our estate, your sleep won't ever be disturbed, I assure you,' promised the girl.

Claudia opened her mouth, but upon Imogen's scrutiny, she closed it back up. 

'Other servants said he's been requesting a trial, Kevan Lannister assured him that he will be able to save face,' added Imogen, her fingers were moving Melara's curls deftly. 

Melara raised an eyebrow.

'I doubt the Lannisters are adamant about turning this affair public.'

'Ann has refused,' said Claudia.

Melara pondered, if there was a trial, the only options would be the king and his hand or the Faith, they would never be favourable to her.

The girl expressed her conclusion. 'It would only tarnish her further, or worse, she could be tried for calumny.' 

She thought of the worst outcomes, exile, death. 

'What a joyous morning,' let out Claudia, patting roughly the cushions. 

'A good day it'll be,' shared Melara unconvincingly. 

Imogen finished up Melara's hairdo, and delicately clasped her amber pendant around her neck. 

'I share the same sentiment.'

Tybolt made his way inside with a look on his face that indicated nothing to come. He dismissed the maids before closing the door on them.

'I've heard that Lord Caron has arrived,' said Melara.

'He has, he'll leave with Ann tomorrow.'

'Will Clegane face consequences?', asked the girl, her voice low but sure. Her eyes darted through the room to set upon the window, she knew the answer and would rather hear her father say it.

'He will not,’ said the man, ‘there can’t be any charges for impropriety as the girl sought him, House Clegane will settle this mishap with a compensation.’

Melara stiffened, and avoided her father’s gaze.

‘I should have insisted and come with her.’

Tybolt shook his head, he moved until he was before his daughter.

‘You shouldn’t have got involved, at all.’

The girl’s eyes turned to him, her lips and brows contorted in disgust.

‘What do you mean by that?’ 

Tybolt did not speak, the stern look said enough. 

Silence took over the room, Melara looked daggers at her father, daring him to speak. His scowl remained intact, then, she knew his opinion would not sway.  

A knock on the door distracted the pair momentarily. Jeyne's voice came from outside.

'Melara?' 

The girl rushed to open it and greet her friend with an easy smile concealing the spat.

'Peach suits you, I don't think I've seen that dress of yours before,' remarked the girl as she took in the peach-coloured dress complimenting Jeyne's brown-skin. 

Jeyne twirled around herself, taking the flattery well.

'Thank you, however, yours makes you glow!'

Melara let out a more genuine smile, thanking her in return.

Jeyne greeted Tybolt Hetherspoon before turning back to Melara.

'Cersei is waiting for us, I've never seen her so eager to see menageries.'

Melara huffed.

'Aren't we all eager to see starved beasts come out and fight each other?' 

Silence came back, and after an embarrassing moment where Jeyne shifted and Melara could recognise the sound of her father's disappointed sigh, as he stood steps away.

'Girls, don't keep Cersei Lannister waiting,' said the man.

Melara withheld her goodbye from him, and the girls went with no addressing of the occurrence.

The witch's tent had disappeared, all traces of it vanished in a matter of a few days.

Maggy had chosen not to linger. Melara swallowed her frustration back inside, and tried to forget it through chit-chat with the girls.

Her sunken mood reflected the weather as rain lightly poured over the grand tent.

A pit had been dug, in which within that level were held the cages of the most ferocious beasts of the menagerie, and stands had been raised to accommodate many. A wooden floor above their seats was built to keep the audience in the dark, with only a rather small circle gap above the arena, from which a ceiling light hung. Torches were scattered to illuminate the spectacle to its full glory. 

Tapestries clothed the place, as if beauty would hinder the smell of beasts from coming back up to their noses.  

Melara could not keep her attention on the duel down the pit between two knights whose names she did not catch, as it entertained everyone who sat around to watch who would fall on his knees. No, thoughts of Ann came about, clouding her vision, from the moment she found her on the ground, the wounds that had been visible nights ago. The note. The notes. It had been a simple yet devastating trick.

If Cersei was behind this meeting, for what purpose , in addition to cruelty? 

She could be cruel to those she deemed unworthy of her interest. Maids, septas, girls her own age... but those were hurtful words rarely travelled outside of the rooms they were spoken within. However, it was undeniable, Cersei was often involved in the miseries of others.

She hoped to be mistaken. She hoped that, at the very least, it was a distasteful prank that turned into an accident. 

Melara sat between Cersei and Jeyne. Septa Saranella and Imogen sat behind them, where they could remain under their watch at all times. Jaime, Tywin Lannister and the extended family sat beside them. They were surrounded.

In her seat, she was either shifting or tensing up, her uneasiness seeping through until she linked her own hands on her lap, as if she was about to make a prayer, so she could relieve her mind. Melara regretted not doing it any sooner, because Cersei had noticed her fussing.

Cersei leaned in, brows knitted in worry.

'Are you feeling unwell?'

Melara turned her gaze her way. Her dilemma showed. She pushed through anyway.

'I need to speak with you.'

Her voice was cold, and Cersei barely hid her surprise. 

'I'm listening,' she turned her head again to the knights fighting. Melara's head followed suit.

'Not here.'

From her peripheral vision, she observed Cersei frowning.

'They'll never let us alone outside, certainly not on a day like this,' she whispered. 

Chatters, clatter of swords and the sound of the wind hitting the structure of the grand tent muffled their conversation from those around. 

'That's never been a problem before,' replied Melara. 

The audience remained captivated by the fight unfolding beneath their eyes, while Melara asked in the most discreet manner for Septa Saranella to accompany them to the nearest garderobe.

Tywin Lannister raised a brow as he observed his daughter and friend up and standing, perhaps he wouldn't have paid attention if Jaime had not caught Cersei's arm and looked at her inquisitively. Septa Saranella leaned in to whisper in his ear, he merely nodded as he turned back to the spectacle.

Melara guided Cersei by the arm and climbed down from the stands with septa Saranella in tow. The walk to the garderobe was as Melara expected and wished for, hard to get to, too many people walked without a care of the neighbour. The crowd was in disarray, just bodies crashing into each other, exchanging unkind words or letting exasperated sounds before attempting to extirpate themselves from the jumble. 

Melara dived right in, dragging Cersei with her, while ignoring Saranella's protests. 

The septa stood distraught a second too long. Shiny blonde hair was easy to catch among the crowd, only for so long. Saranella focused on the strand of gold, and elbowed her way through the populace to follow the girls closely. 

As she advanced, she promised herself that the Hetherspoon bratling would have an earful from her. The woman stopped, long golden locks in sight no more. She whirled around, eyes moving swiftly, searching for the girls. 

In a hopeful attempt at finding them, septa Saranella walked to the garderobe, but to her despair, she walked into privies to find them empty. Her charges had vanished.

The woman rushed to seek out the girls once again, reasoning that they could not have gone far before thinking of alerting the Lannisters men.

The septa cursed nonetheless.

‘Seven hells.’

Chapter Text

Ripples of cheers erupted, vibrating against the wood board underneath their feet, and covered the wind stroking the walls of fabric. The only light in the spacious room came from the crafted hole at the centre. Cersei carefully avoided tools, guano stuck on the floor and logs scattered on the floor, and stepped closer to the large gap until she was grasping onto the railing. Within the dark floor, Melara thought that she was hearing the sound of flapping wings between moments of cacophonies.

The blonde head observed the scene beneath, young men were carrying the fallen knight to lay him down in a litter.

Cersei turned toward Melara, her eyes slightly narrow for a split second.

'Not as high as I expected but the view isn't so bad,' Melara made no move as her mind seemed elsewhere, 'won't you check for yourself?', added Cersei promptly. 

Her friend was startled for a bit, until she steadied herself with a renewed determination, and walked closer until she had her hands on the railing and looked down. 

The smell of burning filled her lungs, the lustre still bright and hot as it hung from one chain and lit the spectacle. 

The fallen knight had bled profusely and left a puddle for all to see. As his hand fell limp, Melara looked away. She did not even recall his name. 

The girl looked up, from the other side, her friend watched the scene with a chilling ease.

No. 

More than that. 

Amusement. 

Melara's hands tightened around the steel. Her hands will be stained with rust, for sure.

'I did not bring us up to admire the view. I have a question for you, Cersei.' 

Her friend turned her attention back to her, her lips slightly falling as she spotted the hard look adorning Melara's face. 

Cersei circled the railing to stand beside her, placing a hand on her arm.

'You seem glum, what is it?'

Melara shifted and pulled herself from her grasp. She did not cower under Cersei's suspicious eyes. Melara hoped for her voice to remain loud and clear.

'Meet me in the tent where flowers bloomed, clothed by an orange rose, where I'll confess on the first day of the festivities, before sunset,' she watched Cersei as she stilled a bit more with each word, 'J.L for Jaime Lannister,' added Melara, carefully observing her friend for her reaction. 

No kindness was left for Melara. The green eyes glowed with sharp viciousness.

'That's the note Ann received, but you must have recognised my words,' Melara expected Cersei to have reacted by now, but she was too quiet to be clueless, 'because you wrote them.'

The blonde next to her was indeed speechless. Unprotesting, but eyes far too angered.

'Baseless accusations, that's low,' she spat the next words, 'even for you.' 

Melara tightened her hold on the railing, her palms burning slightly more than her ears. She ignored the insult.

'Ann showed me her note, and the writing was yours,' Melara stepped closer, even more sure of herself, 'I did try to reason in your favour. Jaime could have asked her to meet him. After all, we all saw for ourselves that he was most comfortable with her out of all of your companions,' she kept going despite the rage surrounding the lioness, 'I checked with him, directly.'

Melara pettily enjoyed the panic that overtook Cersei, she stopped her from speaking before she could utter a word out of her mouth, 'I had him show his lessons, his penmanship is nothing like yours. Far too hasted, less sharp around the edges. That can't be him. And we both know that it wasn't Ann who wrote to that spineless coward, Clegane .'

Wording it out loud, finally, riled Melara. More furious now than ever. She didn't even pay attention to the sound of chains underneath the board.

'My question is, what devil took over you? Deceiving a girl, a friend, like that?'

Cersei watched her, with that feigned disinterest she'd show to the ones she deemed beneath her. Melara had always thought she'd be spared from her friend's contempt. She only realised now how naive she was.

'You are reacting over nothing. Hearing you, one would think that she's dead.'

Melara opened her mouth in disbelief, uncontrolling of the repulsion she felt for the girl before her. 

'You've ruined her!'

'I have done nothing other than write a few words on a piece of parchment, Melara.' 

'You,' she repeated with clenched teeth, 'and that dog, have ruined her. She was your friend, Cersei. Don't you understand that your actions have consequences?', her question came out as a plea, some hopelessness gripped her entirely as nothing seemed to move the girl. 

'I have another question. Why? What was it for you? What was her sin to your eyes? It can't be mere jealousy.' 

'Don't be ridiculous,' scoffed Cersei.

'Cersei!', called Melara before she grasped her wrists, swiftly yet without force, just enough to force her to not escape her gaze. 'If you wish to be forgiven one day, at the very least acknowledge your faults.'

The girl met her eye, with apparent boredom.

'Forgiven? By whom? Ann or you?'

Melara let her go, in fear of being tainted by the miscreant.

'Answer the damn question. Why?'

Cersei's murky eyes held a gleam she rarely ever saw, when she weaved an idea behind them or created herself some drive past silly dreams of queendom. 

'Ann burnt her wings all on her own,' her voice unleashed no remorse, and Melara finally saw her as what her friend had plainly been. 

A sly, spoiled and shameless little girl.

'She set her eyes too high for her station. It was meant to be a lesson, but I admit he went further than I suggested,' added Cersei, with no care in the world. Melara could not do anything against her.

'That doesn't make it my fault, Melara, I could not stop him, could I?', Cersei's aggravating voice drummed inside her head, the threat of an headache becoming greater by the second.

Melara's eyes narrowed, growing aghast. Ann wanted Jaime. Herself, used to.

Silly girls with dreams of a dashing lord to marry.

One boy brought them both demise.

One hand pushed them to it.

'Jaime,' she pronounced, her brows furrowed further, thoughts whirling around in disarray, 'it was all for him.’ 

Melara could not jump to a conclusion, nor pronounce one. It dawned on her that a year ago, she nearly dived into the Stranger's arms mere moments after she inquired whether she would marry the heir of Casterly Rock one day. Cersei had a grasp of steel on her, then. Melara tried to recall what came after. She had been looking at her feet, minding her steps through overgrown roots and grass. 

Cersei had been behind her. 

Sulking, walking behind her, watching her back.

Brooding.

Plotting.

They had promised not to ever speak about it. 

The witch's words buried the seed for doubts to flourish.

Cersei would not marry a king nor even a prince, and Melara would die a maiden. 

The path to the hut and home was risky, the girls had to thread through dangerous woods. 

Cersei's voice reverberated within her memory. Melara dug her nails into her own palms.

Your death is here tonight, and worms are to have your maidenhead, little one. Can you smell her breath? She is very close.

Melara found herself to be an idiot. The witch could not have been any clearer.

She had felt Death's hands on her back, giving her just enough push to let her fly down a well. Her very own Death was standing before her today.

'All for Jaime,' she whispered.

Melara looked down to gather her thoughts, as if they all spilled from her brain and scattered before her feet. Her upper lip twisted up on one side, her body understood it all before it became clearer inside her mind. 

She made a move to step away.

Death's hands pushed her. 

Palms and intents, firmer than they had been a year ago. 

Melara tried to hold on to anything, her nails scraping the miscreant's flesh.

The attempt was fruitless.

Chapter Text

Melara was falling.

Again.

The ceiling light swung as she dived past it, some of its flickers ruining her dress.

The fall was quick.

Once she landed on the sand, and was aware that all four of her limbs still functioned, Melara realised that Cersei had not thought it through or hoped for the girl to break her neck.

The wench.

Sitting up, she noticed that she'd been lucky enough to crash onto the blood puddle left by the previous knights. 

Melara's lips trembled as she fought back her tears, in vain. She caught glimpses of the audience appalled, her eyes were drying up by the second as dust engulfed her, like a veil separating her from the rest of the world. It came to her understanding that no one was coming for her, to save her.

Still, she looked up from where she fell – no, where she had been pushed down. 

No concerned head was peeking into the pit, only a dark void was raised above her head. 

She gulped down her sorrow.

Melara felt it before she heard it.

A soft vibration travelling through the floor, which she felt against her own body, then came the small sounds, as if the sound of steps were muffled. 

Maybe her ears were failing her, or so she hoped. 

The truth hammered her stomach when a roar breached the dreary quiet bubble. Her name might have been called among the crowd. With the ceiling light out, all that was left were the fires lit around the pit, nothing consequential to give visibility from her position.

In that tented arena, watched and made prey, she dared not to move an inch.

Melara cursed under her breath, despite the cries escaping her. 

She pinched herself, she was already making a mistake by staying still like that, sitting down like some bait served on a silver platter. She refused to give the wench the satisfaction.

Melara looked around her. If the Seven was on her side, the fallen knight before her would have left his weapon somewhere…

Her eyes settled on the abandoned sword laying on the sandy ground a few feet away. 

With heavy movements, she was relieved to know that she must be fine from the fall aside from scratches without taking account her heart pounding against her eardrums. While remaining. She faced the beast – beasts, plural – which had started to notice her and eyed her curiously. A bird flew low enough to draw their attention long enough for Melara to start crawling backwards, close to that sword. Her only lifeline at the moment. 

Melara did not turn her back on the lions, five of them, two full-grown, while three others were considerably smaller yet very far from being pups. One of the lions had an enormous bleeding bite mark on its hind leg, and thus remained withdrawn as it saved its energy and let out small whines. 

The duo advanced on her again. 

Eyes glowing, and threatening.

Melara's eyes never left them. Not when she stretched an arm, until her hand enveloped the rough and warm pommel. She let out a sigh as she brought the blade by her side. 

She stole a glance toward the gates, shadows of men hurried beyond them, panicking over the crisis. Melara dared not to run over there until she knew she would make it out in one piece, but she wondered why they were taking so long to extract her from the situation. The Lannisters might want her gone at this very moment if Cersei spread her lies, Melara ought to offer a spectacle beyond a mere cat fight. They will have to help her to save themselves the embarrassment. A companion ruined one week, another winding up dead the next one? No, no, no. 

She let out a squeak when the big lion got closer again, gratefully, only the felines must have heard her. Melara started to rise on her feet, her skirts were ruined. It was a shame, it would take Imogen forever to mend them. Imogen. She guessed that she would be sitting facing Melara's back. The girl figured that she wouldn't be able to report how terrified she was to her father. Melara had given him a cold goodbye earlier. 

Lions had their eyes on her, but she could only think of the strain that had been between him and her before her departure. 

'God.' 

She stood her full height, and tried to keep a facade of bravura. 

Melara, from the knightly house of Hetherspoon, wouldn't die a coward.

Lions saw her as a threat, and from the way they licked their canines, as a treat, too. The feline eyes watched each of her movements. She was afraid of breathing too quickly, and steadying her heartbeat put a strain on her, she might as well be running, it would have had the same effect: a stitch on the side.  

They were ready to pounce, she knew that they grew impatient, as did the people watching. Underneath feigned horror, they all leaned in and drank every second of her misfortune with delight.

Melara loathed them.

Hatred gave her enough motivation to not crumple to the floor in despair and let herself be devoured by the golden beasts. 

She'd been deceived and pushed down twice, by the same monster.

The Stranger did not take her then, it did not come after her fall, it just wouldn't come.

Melara focused.

She noticed one lion's more withdrawn attitude, yet not any smaller than the others. Perhaps, it was less hungry. It didn't stare at her with a gaping mouth for a start. 

She gripped the pommel tighter, slid the sword behind her to hide it from their view – it did seem to make them less hostile towards her– and very slowly started to back off toward the gate. 

The pride followed her, their paws hitting the ground louder than the blood thrumming in her ears. Melara stopped and stood still, she joined both of her hands by the pommel behind her back. 

'The Stranger won't come,' she whispered to herself, then she pleaded, 'spare me, Seven.'

Familiar voices reached her, words merged together and created indecipherable sounds. 

But a caw echoed above her, or was it ? 

It sliced through the mayhem abruptly, so loudly that she could not help, but wonder if it came from within her mind.