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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SIX MONTHS later, the young Tarly's return to the dark clouds gathering over the pink-stoned Horn Hill.
Caecilia steps out of the carriage they have been travelling in since first leaving Harrenhal half a year ago, forest-green skirts billowing around her legs. Leaving Highgarden two days ago had been a tearful farewell and as she stares up at the castle that has failed to feel like home, a sudden thorny feeling rises in her throat. She desperately wishes she could return to her true home. To her mother. To the long gardens.
She is helped out of the carriage by one of the servants and she bleats out a chipper thanking that sounds utterly false on her bitter tongue. She and Trevyr have been happy these past months, travelling winding roads and sharing stories, curled in front of an unfamiliar fireplace as rain batters the windows, relearning how to be friends. When they first started on their journey, Trevyr had barely spoken a few words to her at a time, still trying to get the image of her whispering Jaime Lannister's name in their bed out of his head. But, finally, he had learned to love her again. He trusted her once more.
This castle, with its whispering paintings and gloomy walls, may just undo everything she has worked towards.
She cannot lose Trevyr again.
"Lady Tarly!" Lunette rushes across the courtyard and throws herself at her closest friend. Caecilia curls herself around the handmaiden, having missed her springy dark curls and perfumed scent very much. She misses their giggling gossip, their long whispers. Having someone know exactly how to brush her hair, how tight she wears her dresses, the temperature she drinks her wine. Lunette is her dearest friend and to have spent six months without her has been almost unbearable.
Trevyr at least made that manageable.
"Oh, how I have missed you, dearest Lunette."
"I have missed you even more, I am sure."
Lunette has nobody at Horn Hill except for Caecilia and Trevyr. They had wished her to come with them on their six-month journey but had talked about it at length and realised that to know one another truly, they must do so only by themselves. They had called it a bridal tour that had been taken far too late.
It had yet to result in a child.
Trevyr too hugs Lunette and, soon, it is the three of them standing together, hands held tightly. Tears prickle at the corners of Caecilia's eyes as she claims over and over to be truly sorry to have left her friend behind. Lunette tries to wave her away, but it merely falls on deaf ears. Not until Trevyr places his hand on his wife's back and drops his head so his whisper can fall directly into her ear.
