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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THE MARBLE balustrades of Caecilia's personal balcony are close to freezing against her legs. It is the coldest night she has ever felt in the Reach, but she cannot force herself to return to the warmth of her bedroom behind her. Lunette sits beside her, curled beneath a thick blanket stolen from the wind-whistling Horn Hill, cradling a hot wine between her hands.
They stare up at the stars. The beauty of winking lights staring back down at them, reaching out long arms as if trying to touch them. It is peaceful out here in the quiet of the night.
Janna's birthday is drawing to a close with the moon rising higher in the sky. They had danced the night away in the grand hall draped in gold – curtains, statues, gilded paintings of the beautiful blonde daughter hanging on every wall. Even the food seemed to be dipped in gold.
The people of the Reach could starve, but those in Highgarden will still eat their weight in gold.
Caecilia could barely bring herself to wait the night out. Janna was laughing as she spun around the dancefloor. Her husband is helping to besiege Storm's End. Mina drank and drank and drank until she fell asleep sprawled against the wall, her handmaidens giggling around her body as they tried to help her to her bed. Her husband is in the North fighting the Stark bannerman. They have not heard from their husbands in a month.
For all they know, they could be dead.
Her sisters would celebrate for a week.
Suddenly, there is a shout – a scream, rather – and the two ladies share a look before they jump to their feet. The shouts are coming from the grand hall. Lunette leaves behind the wine glass and the blanket, remnants of the chill that has crawled into Highgarden. They run through the hallways in pale pink and purple nightgowns, respectively, bare-feet slapping against cold floors. There are drunk ladies in extravagant gowns crying hysterically outside the door, faces shoved into embroidered handkerchiefs. Caecilia pauses, hand on the gilded doorknob separating them from the screaming coming from inside the hall. Lunette is trying to comfort the hysterical ladies, arms around them, offering soothing words.
Caecilia steps into the hall.
There is a trail of blood leading to the longest table in the middle of the hall. Dark red blood drips off it. A halo of blonde hair splattered in it rests towards her. She takes short, slow steps towards the mess. Towards the few sober ladies trying to clean the blood-splattered boy on the table. Towards her mother who is walking towards her and telling her not to get closer. To return to her quarters and wait the night out. Let the healers deal with this. Caecilia stay away. Caecilia go back to your quarters. Caecilia stop.
