you cannot kill a flower, for it will grow back stronger than before...
caecilia tyrell shed her petals a long time ago and replaced them with thorns. no longer the daisy of highgarden, she brandishes a bow and arrow and devotes herself to the seven...
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AS THE false spring kills the flowers trodden beneath their wheels, Caecilia swings out of the Tarly carriage she had shared with Trevyr, allowing him to help her.
The air is permeated by a chill in the Riverlands that was unknown down in the Reach, where a blissful Spring is all they have known despite false promises of its arrival. Here, though, the rain clings to the air. Caecilia sniffs and wrinkles up her nose. She has never much liked the stench of the rain that squelches beneath her feet. She lifts up the skirts of her pinkish-brown dress, all the light fabric kissing the skin of her hands as she does so. She prays it does not rain for the ten days they will be here.
The rain reminds her far too much of Horn Hill.
An arm knocks into hers and Lunette smiles up at her. "Your mother got me a room with you all instead of in the servants' quarters." Caecilia smiles back and slips her arm into the crook of her friend's elbow.
"I am relieved to hear that. Although, it will not be so easy to sneak food out of the kitchens."
They laugh together and follow the crowd of Tyrell's being led towards their sleeping quarters, high up in one of the towering towers of Harrenhal. It is one of the largest castles in the Seven Kingdoms, and both women can barely stop themselves from staring in slack-jawed awe at everything surrounding them. There are five towers that make them dizzy just to look at, having to twist their heads all the way back just to see the very top. Every wall is thick and tall, and most of the stone is discoloured and burnt from Aegon's conquest centuries ago. It is too big for humans, Caecilia notes, as they pass under a gate that is metres taller than anybody she has ever met. Maybe, once upon a time, it was occupied by the giants that now live far beyond The Wall.
That would be a sight to behold. Giants stomping around the Riverlands. She supposes it would be like seeing dragons, terrifying beasts that spit fire at anyone who looks at them strangely. She stares at one of the tall towers they pass by, half expecting one of Aegon the Conqueror's dragons to poke their head around the corner.
The rooms that await them are larger than they need, but cold and damp permeate every corner. Caecilia stands shivering in the middle of the room. The walls are dark and dusty, and heavy curtains sway in front of an open window at one side of the room. Trevyr has set up base at the desk on the other side, unpacking his letter-writing materials so he can send a letter home and let his family know of what they miss at the tourney. There is not much to say of the rooms with their too-high ceilings that seem impossible for anyone to reach. Giants, definitely. The gilded furniture seems dull in comparison to Highgarden and when she flops down on the bed, a puff of dust flies up around her. She scowls.
