ii. A Mess Of Heartbreak

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     WHEN THINKING OF the Red Keep, Daella had imagined endless amounts of elegance, she imagine red bricks that lined the great walls of the keep, that shot up to the sky like the dragons the royals rode on themselves. She imagined mounds of gold and jewels plastered on the castle, she imagined it to be so grand in scale that you couldn't even see it fully with the human eye.

     Daella had never been more disappointed.

     When you think of the Targaryens, you think of those greater than men, and less than gods. Yet, Daella was stood beside her aunt, severely underwhelmed.

     "It is something." The Tyrell girl said, her nose upturned by the lack of beauty the keep held, and by the smell of the city below it.

     Cyrelle chuckled, handing her bags off to a servant stood beside the family. "It's very anticlimactic isn't it." She said leaning closer to her niece's ear, knowing if she was heard to be saying such things she would face severe punishment.

     Cyrelle Lannister had met Otto Hightower, she knew of the spies he had lurking.

     Daella snorted, clasping a hand over her mouth to cover the sound. She chastised herself mentally—that was extremely unladylike, Daella, what would your father think?—

     A man dressed in long green robes came sauntering out, his hands held tightly together, his face scrunched up in disliked when his eyes laid upon the two women. "Lady Tyrell, what and honour to host you here." The man stated, staring down at the young girl with a calculated look, but, his crinkled eyes didn't stay on the young Tyrell girl for long.

     Because they landed on her aunt, and that's when Daella saw a large grimace overtake the man's face. "And Lady Cyrelle, another honour." His words meant nothing but kindness, his tone held everything bitter in the world.

     Daella had known her aunt would be disliked, her aunt wasn't even fully liked in her own home, so Daella couldn't imagine how others would feel of Cyrelle Lannister outside of her home perimeters.

     "Thank you, Lord Otto, it is a great honour to be hosted in a dragonpit." Her aunt smiled calmly, although Daella couldn't hear the distaste dripping from her thorny tongue.

     Lord Otto chuckled. "You seem to be mistaken, my lady, this is the Red Keep." He replied before continuing. "However, I understand how you would be confused, after all you are reaching an age of elder." Otto said in hopes of pricking the lion.

     "Well, I believe I have every right to be confused between the two, after all they smell the same."

     That didn't please Otto, he wanted to say something, Daella could tell by the way his lips twitched ever so slightly.

     It took every nerve and bone in her body for Daella to not laugh, her aunt always amused her. More than anyone, as of recent her aunt was the only person who seemed to amuse her.

     Although not intending to make her niece laugh, Cyrelle couldn't help but feel a swish of pride coarse through her veins. Image had always been important to Daella, she got that from her father, the feeling of someone thinking your less all because you have freeing soul and an dangerous appetite for adventure doesn't mean you are less politically advanced than the other lords in court.

     Something Cyrelle's sister helped the isolated Lord Tyrell with, she helped his learn to love, not just her, not just himself, but life.

     But, all love doesn't last forever, and neither does life.

     And Cyrelle's little sister isn't here anymore, all that's left was her daughter.

     "Thank you for welcoming us, my lord, but we're quite fatigued from our journey. May we please be shown our chambers." Daella stated, clasping her small hands in front of her, her pink, flowing sleeves falling above them, making them near impossible to see.

THE LADY - Jacaerys Velaryon Where stories live. Discover now