CHAPTER SIXTEEN
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T H E M A D W O M A N
DEATH IS SUCH an oddity.
Daella hadn't realised but she had always been surrounded by death. The death of her mother, the death of her brother, the death of her father's mentality and now, the death of Ser Conroe which was caused by her own hands.
Her aunt had dragged her out of her chambers and coddled her till she fell asleep like that in Cyrelle's bed. Rocking her back and forth and whispering supportive words whilst she watched as she fell asleep on her arms.
What many hadn't realised was that Daella was still a child. Not even if she yet. And yet she was ruling the Reach and being attacked by men.
Daella couldn't forget the words Ser Conroe had spoke to her. Her father. Her fucking father!
Daella should've told her aunt, if she had, Cyrelle would practically sprint to Caspian and kill him with her bare hands. But she was sick and tired of running to people, she wanted to take matters into her own hands, she wanted to protect herself and take what was rightfully hers.
Many say once you take a life you either wish you never do it again or become enthralled in the notion. Daella couldn't tell whether she was one or the other. She realised there was thin line between the two and she was walking the tightrope.
Daella perched herself in her aunt's bed, dressed in a pale white nightgown and her hair unruly. Her hands were so tight together her knuckles were turning white and her eye squeezed shut, blocking out all source of light.
"Warrior, please give me courage on completing my task. Mother, please forgive me for the sins I am about to commit. Crone, please give me guidance in these moments of dark." Daella whispered repeating the words over and over again and she slowly rocked back and forth on the bed.
She had gone mad.
She hadn't left her room in two days, she hadn't spoken to anyone but the gods, or her aunt. And she hadn't moved from the bed. Daella Tyrell had gone insane.
She felt as if her brain was slowly rotting away and all that was left were those mumbling words.
A knock sounded from the door, startling her from her mantra of prayers, she raked a hand through her I combed curls, fixing her nightgown as she wobbly got up from the bed she hadn't left in two days.
Daella tried her best to fix her hair, patting down the unruly curls that seemed to spring back up. Her face was puffy, not from tears but from sleep. And her neck cracked loudly. Hesitantly, she turned the handle to the door, gulping as a vision of when Ser Conroe barged into her room ran through her mind.
When she opened the door she was met with the face of Cregan Stark. The lord's eyebrows lifted in surprise at the Tyrell girl's appearance but didn't speak on it. It seems the Tyrell's have something close to drowning in sorrow.
"Lord Cregan, what are you doing here?" Daella questioned, shifting nervously from one foot to the other.
"I just wanted to see how you were, My Lady?" Cregan responded respectfully his eyes never wandering lover than her face even though he knew she wore quite a revealing nightgown.
"I am well, My Lord, thank you." Daella cleared her throat, not even persuading himself into thinking she was alright.
Cregan knew it was a lie. Not just from the dishevelled look of the normally well-kept lady, but from the whispers travelling through the walls of Highgarden. They were calling her the mad woman.
Rumours of her slowly falling down a hole of insanity, her mind becoming so corruptible, so rotten. We're spiralling out of hand. Lady Daella Tyrell, the once composed and virtuous lady...had turned just like her father. They said. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
Daella knew of the whispers. Her handmaiden, Roslyn, had been too scared to look her in the eyes when she came to bring her breakfast.
They thought she had lost all pieces of balance.
"You do not need to look at me like that, My Lord." Daella sighed, leaning her pounding head against the cool wood of the door.
Cregan tilted his head, although his eyes never hardened. "What look?" He murmured, his eyebrows knitting together.
"Like I do not know of the things they say. Like I am weak. Like I will break with a simple stare." Retired the auburn haired girl, her green eyes shining in despair. When Cregan was younger, his father used to tell him of the Great Houses of Westeros, how they were formed, what they were known for, and how powerful they are. Other than his own house, his father took a considerable about of time carefully explaining House Tyrell.
His father claimed they were ethereal, that their beauty was simply one with Mother Nature and that they were blessed by the gods because of their loyalty. He said Tyrells were beautiful.
From their brown-auburn locks to their golden-green eyes that glistened in the sun. Tyrell were the epitome of beauty. Rickon Stark had claimed that he should find a woman almost as beautiful as a Tyrell. His father even said that he tried to get him betrothed to a Tyrell.
Cregan didn't know until he received a letter that the girl would've been Daella.
"You are not weak." Cregan replied, licking his lips slowly as he glanced down to meet the sorrow eyes of the lady before him.
"You do not think so? You do not think I am a monster for killing a man?" Daella asked, her voice becoming ear-straining-ly quiet.
Cregan chuckled at the thought, his head tilted back as he laughed heartily. Daella couldn't help but admire him, his stubble that she would know would grow into a mighty beard, his grey eyes that were as cold as ice. He was very pretty.
"If you are a monster for killing a man, than what am I? You have done nothing wrong, my lady. You were protecting yourself." Cregan smiled at her in understanding before saying. "And if people in the South can't except that, than the North would be more than happy than to house you and congratulate you on defence."
Daella quirked a brow, now amused by his offer. "Are you inviting me to the North?" She asked, biting down slightly on her lip to hold in her grin.
Her eyes must've deceived her because by the looks of his, his cheeks bloomed a light pink. "Perhaps I am, My Lady. It would be honour to host my friend in Winterfell, I do not have many my age there." Cregan said.
Friend. Cregan may not have had many at his home but Daella had none. The last time she had a friend was when her mother was alive. And it was her mother.
"Friend?" Daella asked hopefully, perking up in her spot.
"Yes, My Lady, we are friends are we not?"
Daella's smile widened if possible. "We are, My Lord. It would be an honour to visit the North." Cregan copied her grin, looking down at her.
If he could not betroth a Tyrell, he may as well befriend one.
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HEY YALLLLLL
SHIT CHAOTER BUT IDGAF GET OVER IT
ANYWAY PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE DONT BE A SILENT READER IT ACTUALLY MAKES ME DEPRESSED
ALSO HOPE U ENJOYED THE CHAPTERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR
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THE LADY - Jacaerys Velaryon
Fanfiction"I am not afraid of storms, for I am learning how to sail my ship." - Louisa May Alcott In which the young Lady Tyrell needs to learn how to take control instead of asking for it... ALL RIGHTS TO HBO AND GEORGE RR MARTIN except my own characters and...
