THE LADY - Jacaerys Velaryon

x. Dorna Lannister

          
CHAPTER TEN
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D O R N A   L A N N I S T E R

            THE GREAT SEPT of Baelor was a magnificent creation, Daella had always had a special place in her heart for septs. The ones in Highgarden were almost like a second home to her. It was the only way she could speak to her mother.

           Of what she could remember of her mother, she was a lively woman. Her hair always loosely let down, her gowns even less extravagant. Her mother was the essence of natural beauty.

           As much as she admired her aunt for trying. Cyrelle Lannister wasn't her mother. She was merely a piece trying to fill the gaping hole left in her unamended heart.

           Words could not describe how much she cherished her aunt. Cyrelle didn't need to become her ward, she had a father, a parent left. But Cyrelle demanded, she had a father to help her rule, she needed a mother to help her grow. Her aunt in no means tried to replace her mother, she herself was grieving the loss of a younger sister and the one true friend she had in the world.

            Whilst Cyrelle reminded Daella of her mother. Her golden locks and her chocolate brown eyes that were soft and loving. Daella reminded Cyrelle of her sister. From her curious demeanour to her snorting laughs.

           It felt serene to at least have a part of her sister with her. They were both trying to replace Dorna Lannister with the other without realising.

           Cyrelle held no love in her heart for the Seven, nor did she hold love in her heart for the septs. The ones in Highgarden made her scoff and roll her eyes, seeing the Queen wear a necklace larger than her neck with a seven pointed star upon it made her almost yank it off its chain and throw it in the fire. The Seven ruined everything for Cyrelle. But, when she saw her niece wear a simple golden star chain in her neck she felt...happy.

           Her niece was everything good in the world. She couldn't hate anything she did. From her devotion to the religion her father follows or to the fact that Daella couldn't go a day without whispering a silent prayer to the Mother. She would hate anyone who did that. But not Daella she could never hate Daella.

           The Greta Sept of Baelor was made of the finest marble, it's grand seven walls that were placed atop Visenya's Hill, made the Red Keep look common in comparison to the marvellous building. Cyrelle held no love for septs, but that doesn't mean she couldn't help but admire the beauty of such a creation.

           A part of her could understand why Daella found such peace in the buildings.

           Upon entering, Cyrelle's eyes were drawn to the seven large statues.

           The Crone, The Maiden, The Warrior, The Smith, The Mother, The Father and The Stranger. She noticed the final had much less candles lit than any others.

           Her eyes glanced towards the Mother, prehaps Daella was there, praying for her own Mother. Or prehaps she was with the Maiden, in hopes of having a lucky betrothal to a prince and able to carry all their heirs. Daella needed no use of the Warrior or the Smith—not to Cyrelle's knowledge that is—the Father and the Crone would've been a peculiar place to find her.

           And then her eyes laid upon her.

           Draped in the lightest of blues it could've been mistaken as white, her hair swayed freely today. She was less put together today, Cyrelle noted.

           The young girl was the only person in place at the statue of the Stranger. Her hands clasped together and her head dipped in respect before she blew out the stick that lit the candle aflame.