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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JAIME DEPARTS in the early hours of the morning.
It is the end of what life they could have spun together. Disappearing as the sun starts to rise above the shadowed mountains in the distance. Caecilia dresses behind the hand-painted divider, slipping into a high-neck pale green grown embossed with deep pink flowers scattered across the chest. It is not the sort of dress a Tarly would wear. It is a Tyrell gown, in Tyrell colours, and it tells the rest of the guests that one can never pluck a Tyrell woman from the garden where she was grown.
Trevyr barely looks at her as she steps out from behind the divider and does a twirl for him.
Her heart pinches. Does he know? No, do not be ridiculous. How would he know? She certainly has not told him, Jaime barely had the time to, and nobody else here knows. Except for Lunette, but she has had ample opportunity to spill the truth before now. Trevyr does not know. He may just have poorly slept, unused to a new bed. And he was so drunk that while he fell asleep fast, she doubts he could truly stay asleep the whole night.
Trevyr does not know.
He cannot.
Their morning is a blur of entertainment from all corners, sitting in the tourney stands and watching the first dregs of jousting take place. Lord Whent's daughter is crowned the Queen of Love and Beauty with a crown of blue roses at the start and her family must win every fight in order to keep her as such, lest a better man choose another woman as the most beautiful in the crowd. Caecilia has never been overly fond of jousting, but Trevyr seems to be enjoying himself and so she stays seated beside him, clapping when he claps, cheering when he does. She cannot help watching him out of the corner of her eye. His shoulders are tense, even though he is smiling. She wants to take him far away from this place.
She almost reaches for him and stops, dropping her hand back into her lap.
He has yet to kiss her this morning.
Her eyes scour the stands where they sit and find a familiar venomous pair already watching her. She shuffles, uncomfortable, in her chair and picks at a loose thread on her billowing skirts. She tries not to let her eyes wander in that direction, but every so often, they drift from the jousting ahead of her and find the Martell at the other side of the stands. The smirk on his face never strays.
The first round of the five-day jousting ends without much farce. Those who were expected to win do so and those who won their bets leave the stands to spend their money without worry. Caecilia and Trevyr leave halfway through the archery competition, arm in arm to keep up appearances, but still oddly quiet. He does not even talk of the jousting. It stays that way all throughout the day, even as they are joined by Lunette to peruse the stalls. Caecilia tries to laugh her way through the growing pit in her stomach, but it only makes her feel more hollow. Trevyr can barely meet her eye. They sit side-by-side at dinner and he manages to make conversation with her mother, with her sisters, with her brother. He only utters one-word answers to her.
