The weirwood attempted to cradle me into a slumber that never came.
I sat lovingly tucked into the wicked splendour of the crying tree, hidden from Septa August and my Handmaiden Alva in the godswood, who were in a flurry to find myself for the afternoon dancing class.
Embracing the wood, I acknowledged the solidity and life it claimed within the plant, and felt a momentary relief with the subtle nature's stability. Just the tree being there in its existence humbled me, the reassurance that it will always be there stirred a sense of calming within me – oh gods, did I ever yearn for Luthor in this moment. Securing my hug on the trunk of the tree tighter, there was a rush of panging emptiness that shook me uncontrollably, though I refused my body to cry at the news of the Tyrell's death, only allowing the tree to swallow me whole, praying to the Maiden that she wouldn't let a Lion wale.
"There you are, child!" Septa August in her springy youth lifted her grey dress and stepped over the twisted roots to reach me, my face grazed the tree admiringly, relishing in the texture fleetingly before I bid the weirwood farewell. Septa forced an awkward smile onto her features as I revealed myself to her, it was most likely my hair to her disliking – the thought of brushing the mane slipped my mind, it was always a chore, along with getting ready for the day in general.
My nihilistic mind was interrupted as she swiped a lock behind my ear and plucked a stray leaf from the strands with the other, "No dancing for today, your mom has requested you in her chambers" there was a glint in her eye that I felt no curiosity to, "bring her some flowers will you?" she insisted rather than asked, though I didn't feel the need to pluck some tulips from the base of the only stability in my life, I owed the weirwood more than I would Septa August.
I strode out of the garden without a bouquet in hand and up to the west end of the castle where my mother withered away in, and sometime between the godswood and her door Alva was soon three paces behind me, ever quiet and irritatingly pristine.
"Would you fetch some tea for me and my mother?" I spoke above a whisper to with the Clegane girl only curtsied and immediately obeyed.
I opened the door and was met with my mother casting her frame almost out the window, though when she heard my entrance, she was quick to sit back in her seat and smile widely, "my first born" she opened her arms as if I was meeting her after a monthly long trip, though it probably be 5 hours. I dragged my feet over into her hold that lasted longer than most, and a flush of color took my cheeks once I pulled away to sit across from her.
"Always white, always white" she muttered under her breath at my choice of clothing, "wispy and white" she continued, evidently agitated that I always found one way or another to stain the expensive dresses that father always bought me. This dress was sullied at the knees with the dirt from the godswood, and I felt embarrassed at not returning to my bedchambers to present myself more refined to my mother, though as quick as the shame came, it left.
"I sure do hope all your white dresses are significance to your wanting of marriage" I cringed at this idea as my mother laughed heartily, she knew of my disdain for the concept of being wed – both my father and I shared this notion, always saying I was to die the first Lady Knight. I didn't know he was joking, since I being at such a naïve age, I believed whole-heartily and even held a rivalry with Lancel when I was 14 and he was 13. Lady Dorna didn't grow fond of the scraps I attained while in spars with Lancel, and soon I was conditioned into embroidery, dancing, singing, etiquette… I grew a headache.
"No grandchildren from me, mother" I choked, immediately regretting the words that slipped my lips as her face deadpanned, the uncomfortable silence we shared almost had me inching for the door before she cleared her throat, her voice hardening "I have arranged your carriage for departure early in the morning" her voice was stern, though her eyes still were the softness that her soul attained, "Tyrek is attending his betrothed's name day, I was speaking with his mother earlier, and we thought best for you to attend as well" her chin was upright, expecting from form of protest out of me. Although my aching spirit craved the weirwood back into my arms with the constant thought of Luthor Tyrell in my depths of my mind, maybe it be better if I were to be deafeningly intoxicated – my Lannister name not be tarnished though for my planned plastered night, considering Arwyn Frey's passion for masquerade theme parties, I were to be hidden behind a Lion, or perhaps, maybe another sigil.
The quietness of the room and the loudness of my thoughts created a wrong impression on my mother as she shifted in her seat, "it'll be fun, Winona" she spoke exasperatedly, though I shook my head lightly, "I would love to attend, maybe these white dresses of mine will attract a husband" my response broke entirely, though my mother didn't notice while she sat upright in her seat, a mild quirk in her eyebrow at the thought, and smile playing at her lips.
"I'm bringing Adella Serrett and Geneve Estren with me" I quickly added, and much to her displeasure she opened her mouth to object in disapproval at my choice of friends, though Alva's timing was impeccable as she swooped into the room and placed a tray of tea between me and my mother, her calm demeanour returning as she smiled a thank you at the Clegane girl, clearly not adapted to the freshly recruited Handmaiden.
"You're excused, Alva" I leaned forward to grab a cup of the beverage she brought as she treaded out the door, probably to the library considering that's where she always was when off duty.
"Those harlot friends of your will get you impregnated" My mother scorned, huffing as she took in hand a teacup. I wanted to laugh at my mother's judging mindset though thought otherwise while I held my cup to my lips, gently blowing off the steam, "Oh yes mother, Ella will be the father of my children" I sarcastically remarked to which her cheeks turned red, "behave yourself at The Twins, will you dear?" my eyes rolled into the back of my head momentarily, though smiled when my vision returned as my mother's glance was indifferent and stone-like.
"I promise, I will" I murmured, regretful for my attitude towards her, though she rebounded quickly as the quirk in her eyebrow returned, "This is to be a large party considering Tyrek is to be finally bestowing Arywn with the Lunar Grain at midnight" my interest captured my mouth, "why at midnight?" my mother seethed a hush before taking in another huff of breath, "your cousin is engaging one of his houses gems, the time isn't noteworthy."
The ring was the one of the seven gems that our house poured down generations, I questioned it's consistency within our house if given to a Frey girl, "it'll be quite the affair" my mother leaned forward before an untamed smirk claimed her aging lips, "Almost whole of the North will be there" She snickered before leaning back into her seat, "and why should this concern me?" My voice was monotonic while I took another sip of my tea.
"In my youth, the Northern men were always dashingly rugged" she bit back a girlish laugh, and stared out the window once more, probably recalling some brute wrapped up in the thickest of furs, "I prefer gentlemen" I stated matter of factly, reminiscing the tender hands of Luthor, and the high I was on with this small conversation with my mother instantly died at my core at the remembrance.
Placing the cup on the table, I stood and reached over to wrap my arms around my mother, as ditzy and condescending she may be, I still melted in her palms.
"Oh my darling, look at you" she pulled back to take into sight my frame, and I was quick to hear a remark on the tattered ends at the hem of my dress, the earth at my knees, or the leaves in my tresses, "you loved that boy, didn't you?" I shattered, piece by piece slowly flowing down to my ankles, imploding with emotions that I lethally didn't allow to consume me, for if I put into words how I felt for Luthor they probably wouldn't entirely mean what he was to me, "I fell for him" I spoke indignantly, almost angry with him leaving me, "And what's the difference of loving him and falling in love with him?" there was a hush that took my body at the contemplation at my mother's inquiry, and I found the words spilling out my mouth to be not my thoughts at all, "the same difference between light, and lightening."
She stared at me with a piteous defeat, in hopes that I didn't experience this type of turmoil in such a ripe age, though I weaved a smile and lied through my teeth of my false state, "I am living, I am breathing, therefore I am well" she wasn't convinced.
"Along the lines of beauty, it depends on who you're asking that the gem of the Lannister's is either you or your aunt Cersei" she stared up at me in her half lidded haze, "your soul is the gem" she smiled, and for an ephemeral instant, I was the girl before Luthor – my mother's daughter.
A half smile took my mouth while I fumbled with my finger at the compliment, never have I received such a pleasing praise from her, and my heart swelled with pride at this withering loveliness that sat in her chair curtly.
"Goodnight, mother, I'll arise early to look presentable" and with that comforting reassurance, I left her presence to go and cry away the realization that Luthor was the light rather than the lightening.
a/n: I'm excited to post this, I've grown rather fond of Eddard's eldest.
Review if you've enjoyed, I openly encourage helpful criticism and opinions.
Inspired by a poem by Tyler Knott Gregson.