AKD 3: Tyland III
Tyland and Johanna lay in a comfortable silence for what felt like forever. Or not long enough.
His head was resting on her chest, and he could feel every soft breath, rocking his head up and down every so slightly. From this close, he could smell the scent of his wife. His nose was engulfed with the scents of honey and berries, as well as the faint notes of sweat and those of the bedchamber. There was nothing that smelt even half as sweet.
He lay on her chest for another forever that was still too short, until his knees began to ache from the position. That, and he had actual tasks to attend to. Groaning, he lifted himself up, sitting on the edge of the bed.
Tyland stared at the stone ground for a few seconds whilst gathering his thoughts. He stretched his arms until he felt it crack before running his right hand through his golden hair. It was getting quite lengthy now, with those wavy locks of honey reaching the bottom of his neck.
Jason used to keep his hair long and his beard short, whilst I did the opposite.
Tyland's beard resembled a lion's mane on the rare occasion it was uncombed, but his hair would soon reach the length that Jason preferred if he continued to grow it out for a year or two.
He smiled at the thought of his late brother. It was still commonplace for Tyland to think about Jason, but it was nowhere near as much as ten years ago. And it was undoubtedly dwindling, slowly but surely, which made his smile turn into a frown.
Soon, someone shall remember Jason for the last time, as shall happen to me, or Johanna, or Cerelle or Tyshara.
Jason's face seemed like a distant blur, even if Tyland could simply stare into a looking glass to see it. Which was quaint, but maybe that was because while Tyland's face had changed across the last decade or so, Jason's remained the same. Tyland began to gain the odd wrinkle at the side of his eyes and would soon see his golden hair turn silver and white. Meanwhile, Jason stayed youthful and graceful, just like he was on the day he died.
Age catches up with all of us.
Tyland was only eight-and-thirty but felt twice that at times. His body was undoubtedly just as able as a decade ago, and his mind was sharper than Brightroar, but that didn't change things.
Maybe that was because he was thrust into the role of castellan of the Rock when he had hardly turned twenty, and became the acting Lord of the Rock half a decade later. Maybe that was because he had gotten his blood and family intertwined with the Targaryens and the political games of King's Landing. Maybe because he knew that in doing so, he was betting on his and his daughter's lives if he didn't win.
Maybe…
"Tired?" a sweet voice asked, breaking him out of his reverie, if it could be called that.
"When am I not?" Tyland laughed, turning around to face his wife.
Johanna was lying on her side, her body only concealed by a sheer cream robe the same tone as her skin. Tyland looked at her, feeling his body stir once again, and simply smiled at her.
"Are you tired because of just now?" Johanna asked with a grin, whipping her brown hair back over her shoulders.
"Because of later," replied Tyland with a frown, putting his leather breeches back on. "But because of now, too," he added, grinning.
"I would be disappointed if it wasn't because of now," she said playfully before sitting up.
Tyland shook his head affectionately before heading off to the privy. They then both cleaned themselves and dressed for the rest of the day. And it was certainly going to be a long one, that would still feel short once it was over.
I should treasure the remaining few hours we have here; it will be a long while before I return. And it will be even longer for Cerelle.
His heart sank slightly at the thought. His younger daughter had spent nearly the entirety of her life in the halls of Casterly Rock. She occasionally spent time at their quarters at Lannisport, whenever Tyland had matters to attend down in the city, and on the rarer times, one of the Westerlander keeps during a minor progress.
I do hope she is prepared.
Tyland was confident in his abilities. And if he wasn't confident, it wouldn't bode well for Cerelle. And if he was misplaced in his confidence, it would make him a failure.
She certainly knows what to say and how to act, but how much does she actually wish to do it?
Cerelle had all the grace you would expect of a Westerlander noblewoman and even more, and even that of the future queen. Tyland had no doubt she would charm her cousin and his mother and household on Dragonstone, as well as the wider realm, when the time came. His doubt, however, was if she was too young to leave her home.
Others have left their homes earlier.
And those that did so did fare well in the end, even if they were homesick through all of it. Tyland's mother left Castamere when she was the same age Cerelle was now. Eventually, she made the Rock her own home, even after she was left as a widow relatively young.
Mother was a fighter, though, whilst Cerelle is a delicate young woman.
No matter how much Tyland would teach and train his daughter, with the help of the greatest maesters on the continent, she was still a quiet girl who preferred the company of herself, her dear friends, and her dearer cats. She enjoyed the comforts of home and her chambers over anything else, and had been spending more and more time there as of late.
She doesn't want to leave; I know this more than anyone.
Luckily, Cerelle was nowhere near as stubborn as Tyshara was and wouldn't need to be dragged kicking and screaming to Dragonstone. That said, it was clear she wasn't the most keen.
What convinced Cerelle was the promise that she would one day be the Queen. She loved the notion, from as early as she could babble words out of her little mouth.
But if it is being a queen that convinced her…
Cerelle did reiterate that she would do anything for House Lannister and repeated it whenever Tyland spoke to her about it. But still, it was glaringly obvious she truly yearned to stay, and the closer and closer it got to the actual day, the clearer and clearer it became.
I should speak to her one more time, even if it won't change her mind, nor change what will happen.
"You should speak to her again," said Johanna from the bedchamber.
"I was just thinking that I should," Tyland chuckled, finally fastening his doublet only after staring at his reflection for a few minutes.
"And speak to Tyshara, too," she added. "She may not be the one that is going to Dragonstone, but you should do too."
"I wasn't thinking of that," he conceded. "But I shall do that too."
"All the focus has been on her younger sister these past weeks, and maybe even moons…" frowned Johanna.
"Maybe even longer than that, in truth," sighed Tyland.
"She no doubt feels disregarded at times," she said. "Even if that was not what we intended, it is most likely the reality."
"Aye," he agreed, heading back into the main bedchamber.
Johanna was sitting on the bed, her legs crossed and clad in only her smallclothes and an untied blouse. Candles in plinths littered across the room made her body shine, and gave the impression that there was a window with sunlight streaming in from somewhere.
Yet we are how many feet deep within the heart of the mountain.
"Do you think Cerelle shall come to rue us?" Tyland asked, sitting back on the bed, half-dressed.
"The thought has never crossed my mind before," Johanna responded, putting a soft hand on his shoulder.
"Will she blame me for sending her off to Dragonstone at such a young age?" he clarified. "Will she think that I have failed her?"
"She knows her duty to her house, and her family," she replied reassuringly. "We all do. My marriage to yours was arranged by my father. As were my parents, as were yours. It is no different."
"Aye, to other Westerlanders," scoffed Tyland. "And not across the continent, to a cold, miserable island brimming with smoke, dragons, and nobody with her."
Cerelle shall have some of her ladies and guards with her, but will that be enough.
"And truthfully, there was hardly a need for Cerelle to marry Prince Baelon. The issue of Joffrey's parentage was solved with Tyshara's betrothal to him. I only demanded Princess Rhaenyra for the marriage because of my damned ambitions, and nothing more," he sighed. "I decided to play with fire, and it shall be Cerelle that shall get burned as a result."
"We can wait, can we not?" she asked, rubbing his shoulder. "Wait until she even gets to Dragonstone, and see how she fares there. She may come to like the place. Princess Rhaenyra has reason to treat our girl well, and Prince Baelon is her cousin, too."
"Truly, Johanna?" Tyland asked, turning to glare at his wife. "You know how obstinate she may be. She might not voice it as Tyshara would, but once she has her mind set on it, it is nigh impossible to alter her conviction."
"You are not wrong," conceded Johanna, sighing softly. "I am trying to see the positives to it all."
"Oh, the positives wouldn't be able to be matched with any other marriage; I don't doubt that," he shook his head. "Or am I worrying too much?"
"I am worrying more than you," she laughed. "I just don't show it as much."
"Then we know where each of the girls gets it from," smiled Tyland, prompting Johanna to roll her eyes in jest.
"Well, to answer if Cerelle shall rue us, or you?" said Johanna, standing up and walking up to Tyland.
He sucked his teeth, expecting the worst possible answer. Johanna stood over him and gently grabbed his head, caressing his golden beard. Tyland stared up at her, and at her warm blue eyes and welcoming smile.
"She will never," she finally replied. "That is what I think, no matter whatever worries I have. Our girl is wise beyond her years… she will mislike going away to Dragonstone alone, aye, but she knows that there is hardly an alternative. She will blame the world she lives in, but not the man who raised her all her life. I birthed Cerelle myself; I know her better than anyone," Johanna proudly said.
Her words satiated his worries, slightly. By no means were they gone. He still worried if his daughter would be happy on Dragonstone, or if she would blame him if she wasn't, or blame him even if she was and could be happier at home.
"Speak with her, as you always do," Johanna continued. "Why speak your worries to me, and not to her? Speak to her later today, as shall I, as shall both do later, and once again on the morrow. And whilst we travel there, and when we get to Dragonstone, and even when we depart."
"I shall do that," smiled Tyland weakly. "You are not wrong."
"When am I ever?" she squinted. "And we do the same with Tyshara, too."
Tyland nodded as Johanna pulled his head close. Their lips locked, and they kissed for a few seconds, which should have been longer. Once their kiss ended, their foreheads remained pressed against each other. He could hear her calm breaths, smell her honey scent, and see her cool blue eyes.
"And if she shall think we failed her?" Johanna asked, letting go. It should have been longer. "She won't," she bluntly said. "Neither will Tyshara. You are one of the best fathers a woman could have. Both are good girls, kind, intelligent, charming, comely, all you can wish for. They both love you and will love you dearly no matter what their life shall bring. One shall be the Queen, and the other shall be the Lady of the Rock, and shall succeed at it, and it shall be because of you," smiled Johanna, her eyes apologetic. "Don't be a bloody fool, Tyland; you will not have failed anybody."
"Not only because of me," Tyland replied. "You too."
"I was about to say that," she said, sticking out her tongue.
"I know you were," he smirked.
"Come now," Johanna said, reaching her hand out, which Tyland accepted. "We've got one day left here. Best not spend all of it brooding."
I worry now if I have failed my girls, but if Johanna wasn't here, it would not even be a question.
Both of them finally dressed in casual cloths and headed to break their fast. Tyland donned a simple black and gold doublet with matching breeches and boots. He draped a red silk cloak over his shoulders and wore a single heavy golden chain on his neck.
Johanna, meanwhile, chose a flowing cream dress in the colours of her maiden house. It was low cut, with seashells and lions stitched along the skirts with cloth-of-gold. On her bare neck was a silver necklace studded with a shimmering ruby, and her long brown hair was let loose, tumbling down her shoulders.
Their private dining hall was a short walk from the bedchambers, on the same floor. It was spacious, stretching roughly twenty feet across in both directions. The ceiling stretched over ten feet high, with a golden chandelier hanging down just over Tyland's head. He looked at the twinkling diamonds on the chandelier and then at the far side of the room.
The chamber was slightly curved on the other end, with a small cut-out in the wall. From the windows, Tyland could see the hills of the Westerlands, lush green grass, groups of trees, and stony peaks, with the clouds above them all and the Rock above that.
On each wall, draped on the smooth cream stone, was the sigil of House Lannister, along with ornaments and miniature tapestries, showing the same hills and plains Tyland could see out of the window.
The dining table, made of heavy oak draped in a thin maroon cloth, was at the very centre of the room. There were wooden chairs on either end shaped into the likeness of a standing lion and a shared couch lined with velvet cushions in the middle, made for two.
Tyland chose the shared couch, stretching his legs as he sat. Johanna took her place right by him, leaning on his shoulder. They both enjoyed the view in comfortable silence as they waited for their meal, allowing the gentle breeze to tickle their necks as they sat atop the world.
For the first meal to break their fast, servants brought in an assortment of fruits, cheeses, and meats. Crisp red apples and juicy melons were served alongside tangy berries and sweet pears, all cultivated in vast farms in the Westerlands. Sharp orange cheeses, crumbly whites, and creamy yellows were neatly cut and placed alongside smoky pink cuts of ham. To wash it all down, two golden pitchers were also brought in. One was filled to the brim with chilled pear juice from Tyrosh, and the other had warm hippocras mixed with Lannisport honey and saffron from Yi-Ti.
They nibbled at the fruits and cheese in between bites of the meat whilst the cuts of bread were still steaming from the ovens. They made small talk as they sipped on their pear juice and wine, and enjoyed the view with nobody else but themselves. Halfway through the first course, the maester interrupted them to bring them a message.
"From King's Landing," Maester Wylis said, placing the rolled-up parchment in Tyland's hand.
Tyland nodded at the maester to dismiss him, and only when he was gone, decided to open it.
"It's not a usual occurrence," noted Johanna, leaning on the table.
"The seal is black," said Tyland, squinting at parchment. "It comes from the King, and not his council."
Tyland cracked the black wax dragon with his fingers and unrolled the message. Whilst reading it, he squinted some more before scowling, then smirking.
"King's Landing were quick to find a replacement for Lyman Beesbury," he scoffed, tossing the parchment across the table. "And I applaud them for their audacity," laughed Tyland.
"Tion or Lancel?" asked Johanna, putting her hand on his arm.
"That would actually be amusing, and akin to appointing a dwarf to command a watchtower," Tyland said, licking his teeth. "Ser Wendel Manderly has been made the new Master of Coin."
"Lord Manderly's second son?" she asked, and Tyland replied with a nod.
"It doesn't matter if he was the first or third or last son," said Tyland, gritting his teeth. "What matters is that he is a Manderly."
"A Mander-" began Johanna before realising. "Ah. What shall happen with the trade deal between Dragonstone and White Harbor now?" she asked, worried.
"Barely anything, which is what makes it worse," he smiled. "By way of trade alternatives in the Narrow Sea, they already trade as much as they can with Gulltown and Maidenpool, and neither of them can really replicate the goods out of the North. Essos is too far of a voyage, and Duskendale can hardly even be called a port these days. That leaves ports loyal to Prince Daeron."
"So they knew that Dragonstone would have no choice but to continue trading with White Harbor, even if they are now sitting on Corlys Velaryon's council," nodded Johanna, also just as impressed.
"Aye," nodded Tyland. "Bloody grasping cunts. No wonder the Gardeners exiled them all those years ago. At least the fleet on Dragonstone is complete, so they can limit the lumber they import," he sighed. "It was a risk we took when opening relations with White Harbor."
"It doesn't mean the entire North is gone, though, does it?" she asked. "It's a Manderly on the small council, not a Stark."
"It doesn't mean they are gone," Tyland agreed, taking a bite of an apple. "But it does mean that it shall require quite some convincing to bring the entire North back to our side. Whilst the Manderlys brag of their loyalty to Winterfell, Winterfell is just as loyal to White Harbor," he explained. "Bringing Lord Cregan onto our side shall require not only something that benefits him, but also Lord Manderly, which means something greater than a council seat, at a minimum."
"It doesn't sound worth the while," chuckled Johanna, taking a long sip of pear juice. "For one kingdom."
"No, it doesn't," he tutted. "But the only neutral kingdoms left are the Stormlands and the North. And thus… we have the ability to spend more to entice both kingdoms, whilst also having some more to reward those that were loyal from the start," smiling Tyland, thinking what other benefits he could squeeze out for House Lannister.
Maybe not another betrothal for a while, but an unspoken promise to replace the Velaryons as the second house of the realm… or perhaps a permanent small council seat in charge of the realm's finances…
"What were you thinking of this time?" Johanna asked, noticing Tyland's pause.
"What else we can gain out of it," he said, smirking at how Johanna knew. "But back on the matter at hand… I do think we do have the means to gain Stormlands whilst also regaining the North."
"We have the means, but will the North be able to be swayed back?" she asked slowly.
Corlys Velaryon has made a smart play, but he hasn't won just yet.
"If they were able to be swayed away from us, they can certainly be swayed back," Tyland simply smiled. "The Northerners still attended tourneys hosted by those loyal to Prince Daeron before this, and we shall wait and see if they shall do the same with tourneys hosted by us…" he continued, his smile replaced by a frown. "But if the North sways between both sides as easily as a feather blows in the wind, are they really worth the hassle?"
"It is better having them remain on the sides watching it all play out, rather than across the field, waving the enemy's banners," Johanna pointed out.
"Aye," he agreed. "At least they are easier to negotiate with than Lord Borros, who still remains intent on sulking in his castle."
"I would disagree with that," she replied. "With Lord Borros, his intentions are clear, but with the North, any offer we make can just be superseded by an offer from King's Landing."
"Neither are particularly enjoyable to deal with, in truth," Tyland laughed. "It would have been much easier if they really did appoint Tion or Lancel as the next Master of Coin, though."
"Gods," snorted Johanna. "I just remembered the last update we received from Gerold. Has anything changed since then?"
It seems my cousins have been smart enough to not try anything just yet.
"They still remain as smart as a pair of mules," replied Tyland. "But if Tion did regain his wits, and if Lancel suddenly learned to write, it would be quite concerning."
"It's good to know that neither seems particularly likely, for now," she smiled.
"Stranger things have happened," he chuckled. "But Gerold's warning shall stave them off, at least for a few years."
"Aye, that's more likely," Johanna said, plopping a berry into her mouth. "I was about to ask if they have enough courage to think Gerold's warning was a bluff, but I doubt they do," she laughed.
"I don't think Gerold has taken their balls just yet," Tyland said, unable to contain his laughter. "He just warned them this time around."
"In truth, it would have been easier if Gerold went through with it following their first infraction."
"Aye, it would have been," he agreed, thinking if his cousins would really risk starting up trouble once again, knowing the punishment.
Following the fruits, meals, and cheeses, the second course was brought in. Hot meat, fried onions and mushrooms, fried eggs, with even more hot bread from the ovens. They ate the second course whilst chatting about old memories, and by the time the final course was served, they were too full to eat any more.
It was a platter of cakes, pastries, and biscuits, with bowls of sweet cream and honey accompanying the sweets. Tyland and Johanna only nibbled on it whilst enjoying the view of the sun rising out of sight until the sky became a bright blue. Once they were done, they remained seated on the couches, his arm wrapped around her and her head on his shoulder until it was time to go about with the remainder of the day.
"It'll be some weeks until we can break our fast from up here," mused Johanna. "And even longer until Cerelle does," she frowned.
"I don't even wish to know how long," Tyland replied. "I just know that it will be too long. And speaking of…" he said, dreading facing his daughters.
Truly the most fearsome of people. Not Corlys Velaryon or Daemon Targaryen, but my fourteen-year-old daughters.
"I shall speak to Tyshara first, and you shall speak to Cerelle," Johanna said to Tyland's agreement. "And after I have spoken to Cerelle and you have spoken to Tyshara, we can all prepare for Cerelle's last supper here."
Following breakfast, Tyland made his way to his younger daughter's chamber. It was also on the same level as his and Johanna's chamber, but whilst their chambers were on the east side of that level, Cerelle's chambers were on the west. In any other castle, it would take no less than a few minutes. Deep within the Rock, though, it was longer than that.
At times, the halls of Casterly Rock felt like a maze, with its arched ceilings and sculpted walls, all decorated with ornaments, chandeliers, gold, and hundreds of tapestries. Tyland wondered if he had truly traversed through every hall, visited every room, and knew every nook and cranny of the Rock.
I have only ventured into the bowels a few times, getting hardly a glimpse of the mines and gaols there.
But with the top half of the Rock, where the living quarters, great halls, and offices were, Tyland was sure he had seen every part of it. That wasn't to say he was completely familiar with it, though. He had barely been to the Hall of Heroes as of late, and there were half a dozen feasting halls other than the great one and personal one.
I should have visited the Hall of Heroes once before leaving… I shall do so when I return.
He eventually did reach Cerelle's chambers. The guards let him in, and he entered. The first to greet Tyland was Bella, his favourite of Cerelle's cats. Bella was a relatively young cat with brown and grey patches on her smooth coat of white hair.
"Oh, you're happy to see me, at least," laughed Tyland, scratching behind Bella's ears as it circled his legs.
Tyland took care to not trip over the cat as he walked through the entrance area of Cerelle's quarters. Bella followed Tyland, letting out a deep purring sound as she rubbed herself on his boots.
On the main table, Wylla, the oldest cat Cerelle had, meowed loudly at Tyland before returning to her nap. Meanwhile, Fluffy, a grey tomcat with a long fur coat, simply blinked twice at Tyland before continuing to curiously stare at the happenings of everything from the top of a marble plinth.
He reached the door to Cerelle's bedchamber, which was shut. On the door, made of heavy oak and lined with gold, a freshly sewn Lannister sigil was hung. Tyland knocked on the door twice, asking if he could enter, and Bella also meowed her wishes to enter.
"Come!" shouted Cerelle from inside, her voice very much unenthusiastic.
The moment Tyland swung open the door, Bella dashed into the room, forgetting about Tyland instantly. Cerelle's room was wider than Tyland's, stretching around thirty-five feet in both directions. A large chandelier hung from the ceiling, and the room had a faint smell of roses.
On the left side of the room was the view of the Sunset Sea. From this far up, the passing boats looked like ants sailing across the endless dark blue expanse. A gentle breeze came in through the window, sending a slight chill across Tyland's arm.
Or was that nerves?
Across the room was a small table and two chairs made of smooth mahogany carved into the likeness of resting lions. On the table was a pile of books, miniature lions, and a half-finished white kerchief that Cerelle had sewed. Lann the Clever, an old orange tomcat and Cerelle's favourite, sat lazily on one of the chairs, staring at the stone floor.
In the centre of the room was Cerelle's bed, which, like her bedchamber, was even larger than Tyland and Johanna's. On either side was a draping banner of a golden lion on a crimson field. The bed was covered with rich fabrics from Yi-Ti, stitched to resemble a knight in red on a green field.
Bella had already made herself comfortable on the bed, lying on her belly, letting Cerelle stroke it and let out bird-like chirps. Cerelle was sitting cross-legged on the bed, wearing a pink dress lined with cloth-of-gold stitching. Her dark blonde hair was let loose, flowing down behind her shoulders.
She grinned and giggled at the cat, running her fingers across Bella's white and tabby-brown forehead. Whilst she was laughing and smiling, her turquoise eyes betrayed a sadness behind them.
"Cerelle," said Tyland calmly, stifling a frown.
"Father," she replied, her voice still, whilst keeping her eyes on the cat.
"How are you faring?" Tyland asked, sitting on the chair across from Lann the Clever.
"Well enough," Cerelle replied, almost dismissively.
"Did you not have any other plans for the day?" he asked her before kissing his tongue at how harsh it may have sounded.
It's reminding her that she is going to leave.
"Not really," she shrugged. "I would rather spend all of the day with Lann and Bella and Fluffy and Wylla. And I shall not sleep in this bed for a long while, maybe ever," she continued, smiling at the mention of the cats and frowning at the mention of never sleeping here again. "So it's best to make the most of whatever time I have here."
"Aye," Tyland nodded, gulping slightly.
"Do you think the view of the Blackwater is as nice as this?" asked Cerelle, gesturing to the window.
"I don't think any view is as good as this," laughed Tyland. "Not even from Sunspear or the Summer Isles or Tyrosh."
"Nowhere will ever be as good as here," she said, almost bitterly.
"I know that better than anyone," frowned Tyland, looking down in guilt. "But I have no doubt that the servants of Dragonstone will treat you better than just about anywhere."
"As they should, I'm to be their future queen, and our representative in Princess Rhaenyra's court," Cerelle said, as Tyland smiled proudly at that. "They would probably treat me better than I am treated here…" she continued, trailing off to stare again at the sea.
"But no matter how well they treat you, it won't be here," finished Tyland.
"Correct," she said proudly.
"Nothing will ever be here," he said, staring at her. "And you would rather do nothing more than stay," Tyland sighed, just wishing his daughter would certainly confirm it, as if it would remove any of the guilt he carried.
"If I said to you now that I didn't want to go to Dragonstone, would that mean I wouldn't need to go?" asked Cerelle, finally looking at Tyland. Her eyes were wide, and her expression seemed almost pleading.
No, it wouldn't.
"It could mean that," lied Tyland, before realising what he said.
"Truly?" she asked, her wide blue-green eyes widening.
I'm sorry.
"I could end the betrothal. I would be seen as a fool by the realm, but you would be able to stay home," he said, his words moving faster than his thoughts. "Princess Rhaenyra wouldn't mind all too much. It would free her son up for another betrothal," continued Tyland, thinking how it would all work out. "Prince Baelon could instead be betrothed to one of Borros Baratheon's girls, or to Bethany Hightower, so we would gain another ally."
Gods, get a hold of yourself.
"Would you do that?" Cerelle asked, taken aback. "Sacrifice our ambitions so I wouldn't have to go to Dragonstone?"
I am saying it, but would I actually do it?
"I think I would," he nodded intently. "I chose ambition over your uncles Tion and Lancel, but I hated those two anyway. But for you, or Tyshara, or Cerelle…"
"I wouldn't want you to do that, however," she said, even smiling slightly.
What?
"Your betrothal to Prince Baelon wasn't necessary, and it only hampers Princess Rhaenyra's options for alliances," Tyland explained. "I only made it due to personal ambition, and nothing more."
"Well, I wish to go to Dragonstone regardless," Cerelle said. "I may have my doubts, but I mulled over it for the past weeks, and I truly want to."
She does bewilder me at times.
"You needn't say this to appease me, Cerelle," he gently said. "I know when you are not keen on a matter."
"Then you do not know me that well," laughed Cerelle, rolling her eyes. "There are times when I am more keen, and times when I am less keen, but I still like the idea. Not only for you and Mother, but for House Lannister, but for myself too. Of course I want to marry a dashing, handsome prince of the blood of both Casterly Rock and the Targaryens," she beamed, merely speaking of the notion. "He would love me dearly, and give me children who would sit the Iron Throne someday. For that, I would go to worse places than Dragonstone. Aye, I will miss the view of the sea, and the cats, and the food, and you and Mother and maybe Tyshara… but I could always visit you all, and you could visit me."
"Gods, you do baffle me," laughed Tyland, relieved. "I can navigate the politics of the Westerlands but not the mind of a fourteen-year-old."
"But, Father," she said, which made Tyland's heart sink. "You telling me that you would cancel the betrothal… for me… it…" Cerelle began before tears overtook her words. "It convinced me more than anything, queerly enough."
"I would do anything for you, my girl," he said, going over to the bed and embracing his daughter. She hugged him in return, and he could feel her tears wet his shoulder as she wept.
"I know," spluttered Cerelle through the flurry of tears. "That's why you're making me a queen."
Once Cerelle's tears had dried, they finally pulled away from the embrace. Tyland sat alongside her on the bed, his arm wrapped around her shoulder.
"The closer it does get to me leaving, it does become harder for me to want to go…" Cerelle explained, stroking Lann the Clever, who rested on her lap. "But the promise that I will be treated like a future queen by Prince Baelon is what convinces me. And if he doesn't… I will still be a queen," she shrugged. "I am happy about it all, but also sad."
"I think that describes it," chuckled Tyland.
"Dragonstone, despite being cold and grey, can't be too bad, though?" she asked, which reminded Tyland of when she was half her age, curious about every little thing.
"It does smell distinctly like dragon," said Tyland.
"What does dragon smell like?"
"You shall know when you smell it," smiled Tyland. "But aside from that, the quarters and food and chambers are all almost as good as here," he grinned. "Almost, but not quite."
"Is it better or worse than King's Landing?" asked Cerelle, looking shuffling across so Bella could squeeze between her and Tyland.
"You would prefer Dragonstone, due to the peace and quiet."
"Whilst Tyshara would prefer King's Landing," she said. "Where do you think the best place in Westeros is? Apart from here," she made sure to clarify.
"Aside from the Westerlands, most of the Reach seems quite pleasant," thought Tyland. "A view of the sea and a calm, mild climate. Oldtown or Highgarden, as much as I wouldn't admit it, both would be appealing."
"I would want to live in the Vale," Cerelle said after thinking for a while. "All the way up in the Eyrie!"
"Is that because living in a castle on top of the mountain reminds you of something?" he asked, smirking and rubbing her head.
"It's nice and quiet there, I feel," she replied. "And the men of the Vale are the most handsome and chivalrous, so I have heard."
Eventually, the conversation trailed off to more mundane topics, and a light lunch was served, to not fill them up for the grand feast that evening. They ate small portions and sat silently, watching the waves before Cerelle turned to Tyland.
"Who is your favourite between me and Tyshara?" she suddenly asked.
And if I didn't have enough stress for today.
"I don't have one," he curtly replied.
"Of course you do, Father," Cerelle sighed. "Everyone has a favourite child."
"Did you ask your mother the same?" glared Tyland.
"No, but I will later," she smiled. "Tyshara thinks you both will answer the same."
"And that being?"
"She reckons you would both say I am. I do not know if she feels jea-" Cerelle replied, a hint of satisfaction as she answered.
"Well, she is mistaken, because I don't have a favourite," Tyland cut in, wanting the conversation to end.
Does Tyshara truly feel as such? And is it because Cerelle will be a queen, and she won't be?
"Let me put the same question to you then," he said. "Do you prefer me or your mother?"
"Well, that is different," Cerelle said, crossing her arms. "I bet Mother would answer my question."
"I bet she wouldn't," countered Tyland. "And I bet that Tyshara is also asking her the very same question this moment, and your mother is also refusing to answer it."
"Mayhaps. Go and find out," she casually said.
"Very well," said Tyland, finally deciding to take his leave.
It was late afternoon by now, and he could see the bottom of the yellow sun from the window sitting in the cloudless sky. He was about to exit her chambers before she hugged him once again.
"I love you, Father," Cerelle said, her voice muffled as she pressed her head into his doublet.
"I know, my girl," he whispered, stroking her hair. "I love you too."
Tyland wished farewell to all the cats, too. Lann the Clever was too asleep to realise, but Bella accepted another scratch behind the ear. Wylla meowed at him whilst Fluffy was out of reach, sitting atop a wardrobe.
He then made his way to Tyshara's quarters, which was, at least, not too far away from Cerelle's quarters this time. On the way there, he passed by Johanna, who nodded and smiled at him, indicating that her talk with Tyshara went well. Tyland smiled in return, which made Johanna's shoulders visibly loosen.
"Did you manage to convince her?" asked Johanna, stopping as they met.
"She didn't need convincing," shrugged Tyland.
"I knew it, secretly," she smirked as they went their separate ways.
Tyshara's quarters looked nearly identical to Cerelle's, covered with decorations, ornaments, tapestries, and banners, all depicting Lannister lore. Upon entering, Meraxes, Tyshara's only cat, was there to greet him. The cat was a rare breed from Essos, with a cream-white coat and bright green eyes that shone like emeralds in the torch-lit room.
It is amusing that all five resident cats of this part of the Rock have some features of the Lannisters.
Meraxes had the eminent green eyes, whilst Bella, Wylla, and Fluffy had eyes that looked like molten gold, and Lann the Clever's ginger coat looked like gold whenever he basked in the late afternoon sun.
The cream cat ran past Tyland and onto a high table before zooming back down into Tyshara's bedchamber, and then out again out into the hall. It was always full of energy, unlike all of Cerelle's cats, who preferred to sleep all day.
In some ways, the cats resemble the owner.
The bedchamber had the same layout as Cerelle's, except the window was on the right of the room and the table on the right. On the table were a few dresses of varying colours, but they all had two things in common - the Westerlander style and that they were made of the highest quality. Above the table was a tapestry depicting Queen Leila Lannister. Despite the tapestry showing the legendary queen clad in golden jewellery and fine silks, her deep green eyes looked strangely sad.
Tyshara was leaning on the window ledge, staring out at the city of Lannisport in the distance. Her face and eyes showed no emotion, but Tyland still knew she wasn't particularly joyful.
It is Cerelle who spends all of her time brooding in her room, not Tyshara.
"Father," Tyshara said, still staring out at the city.
"Tyshara," he replied, sitting on the chair lined with velvet cushions. "Are you faring well, my girl?"
"Yes, well enough," she sighed, turning to face Tyland. "Though I am surprised you and Mother had the time to speak to me before we leave on the morrow."
The conversation with Tyshara will be the difficult one, whilst I thought it would be the easy one.
"I always have time for you, Tyshara," Tyland said gently. "Even if it may not seem like that."
"Maybe," shrugged Tyshara, slowly walking over to sit on the bed.
She wore a green Westerlander-style dress, not too dissimilar to Cerelle's, except Tyshara's had a higher cut. Her hair was tied into a neat bun, and she had earrings dangling from both ears and a shimmering necklace made of gold on her chest.
"But you usually have more time for Cerelle," she said, looking down at her skirts.
"It's not that we intended it as such," replied Tyland before sighing. "But it may have happened as such."
"I understand," smiled Tyshara. "My little sister is to be our future queen," she said, her face between a scowl and a caring smile. "Whilst I am…"
"To be the bloodline of House Lannister, and the Lady of the Rock."
"Hardly close to being a queen," she laughed. "And I will have to marry…"
A bastard.
"Yes, I know that part, Tyshara," tutted Tyland. "But how do you know that part?" he squinted.
"Truly, Father?" Tyshara scoffed, rolling her eyes. "People talk, and it is quite obvious."
"Aye, it is quite an uncomfortable notion," he conceded, unsure what else to say.
"But it isn't like I have a choice," she smiled. "It's either that or make us seem like fools to the rest of the realm."
I would cancel Cerelle's betrothal if she wanted me to; it would only be fair if I did the same with Tyshara.
"So, do not fret, Father," Tyshara said, surprisingly upbeat. "As I told Mother, you wouldn't need to drag me to the altar. I will be there willingly."
"If you had come out of your mother's womb after your sister, you would be the one that would be leaving us," said Tyland, relieved yet unsure of what else to say.
"I would have preferred that, for certain," she beamed. "I would be marrying the future king… but I doubt Cerelle would enjoy that very much, even if she would be the one remaining here."
"You don't enjoy the present notion much, either," whispered Tyland apologetically.
"I wouldn't refuse to marry," Tyshara corrected him. "Even if you think I am more difficult, Cerelle would lock herself in her room rather than marry Joffrey. I know my sister better than anyone," she smirked. "How things turned out is for the better, in truth."
"Well, if anything, it does please me to know that, albeit whatever qualms and reservations you have about Joffrey, you won't let it affect your betrothal," he nodded.
"I am to be married to him regardless of how I feel about it, so why make it more challenging for myself?" Tyshara asked, putting her hands out. "It only makes it more difficult for myself, and for my future husband if I am icy to him… I have heard of ladies who rue their husbands every second they breathe and would rather run away or die than remain miserable. Why put that on myself, rather than give Joffrey a chance?"
"It's in our interest for all of us to treat Joffrey well, too," noted Tyland. "As that would impact Prince Baelon's treatment of Cerelle."
"Aye, but I am sure the prince shall treat my sister quite well," she said. "You said he was a charming lad, didn't you?"
"It has been a good few years since I last went to Dragonstone," he chuckled. "But both Prince Baelon and Joffrey were courteous and friendly lads. I see no reason for that to have changed."
"For both our sake, I pray that is the case."
"I do so every day," Tyland said.
That brought an earnest smile to Tyshara's face, and she gave Tyland a long hug. Following that, they sat in a comfortable silence. Even though his worries were mostly quelled, one small matter was still niggling at the back of Tyland's mind.
"Tyshara, do you-" he began before trailing off to stare out the window.
It's better to ask her directly, rather than circle around the issue.
"You said that me and your Mother always have dedicated more time to your sister rather than you…" Tyland said, circling around the issue. "How often do you feel that is the case?"
"It can be quite clear at times," sighed Tyshara, her voice showing that she had seemingly accepted it rather than remaining bitter about it.
I do not know if that's better or worse.
"At least you and Mother both aren't willfully blind about it," she shrugged. "She asked me a similar question earlier."
"What did she ask you, and what did you respond?" asked Tyland cautiously.
"If I was jealous of Cerelle," Tyshara quickly replied. "And she said that I am not wrong to be."
"Your mother is correct in that," he replied. "And are you?"
"At times," she smiled. "But I don't hate Cerelle for it, nor do I hate you and Mother for it… hells, I don't even blame either of you for it."
"You can lay some blame on us," Tyland nervously chuckled. "Truly."
"No, it's understandable," Tyshara said, shaking her head. "You have known since before we could even walk that Cerelle would need to be trained in etiquette, conduct, and all of that more so than I would. She is the one that is leaving her home at ten-and-four, whilst I am the one who shall grow old in the comforts of my home. It is hardly a surprise she received more attention than I did."
It is cruelly ironic that Tyshara is the one who loves the attention of others, whilst Cerelle doesn't as much.
"I am sorry, Tyshara," he said, looking deep into her eyes.
"Thank you, Father," Tyshara replied with a smile. "But I expect you to give me the same attention you gave Cerelle, and even more, once it's just me here!" she grinned.
"Of course," smiled Tyland.
She then leapt out of the bed and into the arms of Tyland. He returned the embrace, patting her on the back and ruffling her hair. There were no tears from Tyshara this time, but Tyland did feel his own eyes begin to water.
By that point, the sun had begun to set, illuminating Lannisport with an orange-red glow. The air had gotten slightly chilly, too, and Tyland felt the wind lick him on his exposed neck. That was the sign that it was nearly time for the grand supper Tyland had organised.
It was to be held in the Golden Gallery, the largest chamber in all of Casterly Rock. Tyland only reserved usage of the hall for the most important of events, and this was certainly one of them. Tyland then took his leave to his chambers to change into his best fabrics for the forthcoming feast, where he, his wife, and his daughters could enjoy one feast together before Cerelle went to Dragonstone.
Tyland dressed in purple and gold fabrics, white breeches and boots, and a dark purple cloak lined with ermine atop it all. He wore a necklace wrought into the shape of prancing lions, along with a few golden rings, all studded with amethysts. He applied his usual scents of moss and amber before combing his golden beard and tying his long hair into a bun.
Johanna wore the same colours as he did, the bottom of her skirts and the ends of her long sleeves a glimmering gold. Lions and seashells were stitched with silk into her purple dress. The dress bore her shoulders, and she wore a simple golden necklace over it. Her hair was let loose, as she usually liked, accentuating her sharp features. She smelt of honey and berries, and Tyland greeted her with a kiss on the lips.
"You do look wonderful," smiled Tyland, somewhat disappointed that tonight would be the last night they would share their bed here at the Rock.
"When do I not?" Johanna winked, sitting on their bed across from Tyland, who was on a nearby chair.
"A question that I am unable to answer," he said, admitting defeat.
"It went… surprisingly well," noted Johanna, mildly surprised. "Cerelle repeated that she wants to go, even if you suggested an avenue of escape… If she did outright express her unwillingness, would you have truly called it off?" she asked curiously.
"I do not know, truly," conceded Tyland. "Part of me says I would have, but that is easy to say when there is no decision to be made."
"Well, I would be pleased that no decision needed to be made," she warmly said, bringing him some solace.
"Aye," he agreed. "And Tyshara does not seem too upset by everything, either. Luckily."
"More attention should be devoted to her, Ty," Johanna said.
"Most certainly," nodded Tyland. "And I will do so, without any doubt at all."
"Good," she smiled. "Very well, shall we?" asked Johanna, standing up and offering her hand to Tyland.
They went together to the Golden Gallery, arriving after a short walk. Neither of the girls had arrived, so Tyland and Johanna both remained standing until they did. It never failed to take Tyland's breath away, no matter how often he had been there. He looked in awe at the hundred-foot-high ceilings and two or three hundred feet length of the walls, as if he was four years old again.
The thirty-foot-long oak and gold table was draped with a purple and gold cloth, which was the evening's colour theme, and also Cerelle's favourite colours. Cutlery, plates, and cups were laid out, each part made with some element of gold. The four chairs at the gargantuan table were all lined with purple velvet cushions, with lions shaped into the armrests.
Tyshara and Cerelle arrived not long after, led in by two guards, who then took their places by the doors. They looked equally opulent in the same dress: a long Westerlander style in rich purples, lined with cloth-of-gold on the skirts, and they both donned a thin golden cloak over their backs.
Tyshara chose to tie her hair up, and had a golden circlet resting atop her head. Eminent gold rings dangled from her ears, matching the necklaces on her chest. Seven of her fingers glimmered with rings, and her right arm had a large golden bangle studded with a purple gemstone that radiated in the bright candlelight.
Cerelle, meanwhile, let her hair loose, like her mother did, but wore a dark purple headpiece decorated with tiny golden chains and even tinier amethysts. She opted for one simple choker necklace, also in gold and decorated with a singular ruby, sharply contrasting with the rest of her clothing.
Tyland and Johanna greeted both of their children with a hug. Tyland gave each of them a kiss on the forehead, whilst Johanna gave them one on each cheek. Following a small conversation of how resplendent everyone was dressed, they took their places at the table.
Tyland sat facing the main entrance, with Johanna to his left. Tyshara was directly across from him, and Cerelle was across from her mother. Before the supper meal started, they made a small prayer to the gods, thanking them for everything. Then, Tyland signalled for the bards to be brought in.
A group of bards, carrying harps, flutes, and lutes, entered. The leader of the troupe, a fair-faced Riverlander, sang some songs about love and war and maidens and knights, which made Cerelle tear up before the first course had even been served.
"I chose the songs because I knew you would love these, in particular," smiled Tyshara, nudging her sister.
The bards would continue to play on their instruments throughout the meal, but not loud enough to disturb Tyland and his family, but not quiet enough that their voices would echo across the hall. First to be served was a selection of berry tarts, Tyroshi honeyfingers, oatcakes, and lush fruits from halfway across the world. Tyland even permitted them both to have a cup of strongwine each, which Tyshara felt was too sweet and Cerelle felt was too bitter.
Everyone tucked into their meals first and foremost since the bards' performance stretched out for a while. Tyland helped himself to a honeyfinger and nibbled on a berry tart, which was slightly too cloying for his liking. Tyshara broke the silence after finishing the last of her strongwine.
"When was the first memory you have of this hall?" Tyshara asked her sister. "Mine was for someone's nameday; I think it was Uncle Tommen's."
"I can't remember that…" said Cerelle, putting her hand on her chin.
"It was the one where you threw up all over the crabcakes," laughed Tyshara, playfully slapping Cerelle on the arm.
"Gods, I remember that one," chuckled Tyland. "They were quite good crabcakes, too."
"I think I do remember now," Cerelle replied. "Maybe I tried to forget that one on purpose," she grimaced. "I think I remember some feast when everyone was here… even Uncles Tion and Lancel, it must have been.
"They were last here a long while ago," Johanna said. "You both hadn't even learnt to walk, if I recall."
"Maybe it was the Reynes or Leffords that came to visit then," she shrugged.
"Will you ever let them back up here?" Tyshara asked. "What did they do that was so bad you sent them back to Lannisport indefinitely?"
I have to tell them someday, since it was Tyshara's husband's father and grandfather who were killed by them.
"I shall tell you both when you grow older," smiled Tyland.
"If it was so bad, why did you not just imprison them in the mines?" questioned Tyshara, ever the curious. "I heard Lady Jeyne Arryn did that to her rebellious cousin."
Is it because they didn't actually rebel against me, or is it because I may still feel some pity for them?
"They are still my cousins, and Uncle Tommen's goodbrothers," explained Tyland, the subject not a very pleasant to discuss. "Which is why I have some hope…" he sighed, pausing. "That they would acknowledge and atone for what they did… but they didn't, which is why I left Lord Gerold to be the one who punishes them."
"Because the kinslayer is cursed," whispered Cerelle with a shudder.
What I have threatened is not kinslaying, but it might be worse.
"I think it is better to move onto a topic more relevant for the night," smiled Johanna, her voice firm and authoritative.
"Very well," Tyshara agreed, rolling her eyes, whilst Cerelle just let out a giggle. "Can we do what we asked you, all those weeks ago?"
"What was it you asked?" Johanna repeated, an eyebrow raised.
"Can Cerelle take Lann and Bella and Wylla and Fluffy with her, and can Margot and Leila and Jeyne stay?" she asked, her blue-ish green widening.
Not this again.
Tyland had to stop himself from rolling his eyes whilst Johanna replied on his behalf. He patiently tapped on the table with his finger, trying to hide a frown, watching his daughters' faces drop at their proposal being rejected.
"Lord Reyne and Lord Serrett, as well as Uncle Gerold and the others, all want to send their girls to Dragonstone alongside Cerelle," Johanna said to them, hiding her disappointment too. "And if they don't go with her, which other girls of age with her would there be?"
I already fear Cerelle being so far away and isolated - not giving her any Westerlander ladies for company would make it all magnitudes worse.
Tyshara, although also somewhat irked by Cerelle receiving the attention of everyone in the West, would have to contend with her dearest friends being sent away to Dragonstone, too. That wasn't to say Cerelle wasn't friendly with Leile Reyne, Margot Lannister, and Jeyne Serrett, but of the twins, one was clearly much more acquainted than the other.
Due to that, Tyland suspected it was Tyshara's making and that Cerelle also agreed because she preferred the company of Bella and Wylla, and Fluffy and old Lann, over that of the Westerlander girls.
"I do not oppose the suggestion, too," chirped in Cerelle. "It isn't just Tyshara who wants it. And only Meraxes is her cat; the rest are mine."
"It doesn't matter whose suggestion it was," Johanna sighed. "It insults House Lannister's bannermen first of all, and wasn't you who worried that Cerelle needs people around her when she goes to Dragonstone?" she asked, shaking her head disapprovingly. "Wylla and Lann and the rest are certainly brilliant, but it's not the same."
"What about I take the cats along too?" pleaded Cerelle, her eyes widening even more than Tyshara's.
They are making it difficult to refuse, lest I feel awful about it for weeks after.
"I would have had no objections to it, but blame Maester Vyman for telling you it's unsafe," sighed Tyland. "Despite being with you, they would hate living in a new place, and the island isn't exactly the best habitat for a cat."
"Not unless you wish to feed your betrothed's dragon," bluntly added Johanna, which made Cerelle bow her head.
"We'll make sure to take care of every one of them, Cerelle," Tyland said reassuringly. "We promise."
"Definitely," agreed Johanna. "It still is your sister who is the one who steals the fish from the kitchens to give them all. She shall still be doing it, I am sure."
"Of course," grinned Tyshara, grabbing her sister's hand.
Soon enough, the second meal was brought in. It was a stew of mutton, carrots, and onions, as well as a whole salmon, spiced with cracked Volantene pepper and covered with salt and lemon, served alongside a basket of steaming bread and buttery neeps. Tyland remembered how Cerelle loved salmon, so he ensured it would be served today.
"You're favourite," nodded Johanna with a smile.
"Gods… it has been a while since I ate salmon," Cerelle beamed, biting her lip at the fish.
"It is one of the rarer delicacies up here," said Tyland. "This one was brought in all the way from the Riverlands. Mayhaps the Blackwater fishermen have more luck in catching salmon."
"That would be a welcome treat," agreed Cerelle before putting a forkful of the pale, flaky, pink flesh in her mouth. "It tastes just like I remember," she giggled as Tyland glanced at Johanna, both of them grinning.
"You first tried it back at that wedding in the Reach, wasn't it?" said Johanna. "I remember seeing your face light up when you bit into it."
"Oh, I remember that wedding!" exclaimed Tyshara, clapping her hands.
"It was only around three years ago. It was Lord Rowan's heir marrying, wasn't it?" asked Tyland. "To the Florent girl."
"That was the only part I didn't like very much," grimaced Cerelle. "Everything about the wedding was splendid apart from Lady Florys' face."
That poor woman, having to marry a man old enough to be her grandfather…
"It was the one where all the knights were fighting for your favour," said Tyshara, who didn't receive as much attention as her sister did back then. "Who won it all in the end?"
"Lord Tarly's son, I remember him placing that pink crown of laurels on my head," smiled Cerelle, her head still at the tourney.
"He wasn't the most handsome of the knights, though, was he?" squinted Tyshara. "You had your eyes on the Vale knight, didn't you?"
"That was Ser Joffrey Arryn," she replied, grinning.
The heir to the Vale following recent developments.
"Aye, that was him. You became redder than our sigil when he spoke to you!" teased Tyshara. "Don't deny it!"
"I'm not!" protested Cerelle. "But in truth, I would have preferred just him to fight over my honour than all those other knights who I had forgotten about hours later, which made me feel bad afterwards," she remarked.
"I would have cherished all of it," Tyshara shrugged. "The only one who asked for my honour was Adrian Tarbeck, and he was the opposite of charming."
"That man is just a few years younger than I am," scoffed Tyland, shaking his head.
"I can attest to that," shuddered Mother. "Ser Adrian is a good fighter, but nothing more. My father proposed him as a possible husband for me…" she trailed off. "Thank the Seven that didn't happen, and he made the correct choice."
Tyland smiled to himself, grabbing Johanna's hand under the table and squeezing it. She returned the squeeze, and they kept their hands interlocked until the third course arrived.
The final course of the evening was a capon pie, the filling spiced with parsley, cinnamon, and garlic. A thick, meaty gravy accompanied the pie and some fried mushrooms, peppers, and onions cooked in the Dornish style. A glass pitcher with honeyed Lannisport wine was also brought in to wash the hearty supper down.
Once everyone had finished their meals, Tyland stood up, clinking his knife on his glass cup as if he were silencing a large crowd of Westerlanders after a tourney feast.
"I do hope you all enjoyed the feast," Tyland began, nodding specifically at Cerelle. "I do not know when, or if, we shall get to do this again, so we should cherish this moment," he said, but felt a lump in his throat.
Johanna grabbed his hand, gently rubbing it until Tyland's tears subsided. He cleared his throat twice before continuing.
"I would like to make a toast," he said, pointing his filled cup of Lannisport Gold at Cerelle. "To you, Cerelle. I remember when you were but a squalling babe, having just opened your eyes to the world. And I remember all of those ten-and-four years where I have watched you grow into the beautiful woman you have become today. And it all went by so quickly. Too quickly, even… You're a woman grown, and set to depart to Dragonstone to live with the Prince and soon grow into the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And I have no doubt you shall succeed in it, and there is nothing more certain than that. To your health, to your happiness, may the Seven shine their blessings upon you, your betrothed, your future children, and their health and happiness!" announced Tyland, noticing the tears running down Cerelle's cheek. "To my daughter, to our soon-to-be queen!"
"To Cerelle!" also announced Johanna, taking a long drink of her wine.
Tyshara smiled and pointed her cup at Cerelle before taking an even longer sip of the wine. She then wiped her lips with a white cloth, giving her sister a small embrace and kissing her cheek proudly. Still, Tyland did notice the most minor glimmers of a frown in that moment, which was gone instantly.
She deserves a toast, too, and so much more than that.
"And another toast," Tyland exclaimed. "To you, Tyshara… You may be remaining with us, and shall spend your days here as the Lady of the Rock, the future matriarch of House Lannister when I am gone, but that does not mean you shouldn't have your own toast. I remember all of your fourteen years, too, from when you learned to crawl and stand and walk and run, to when you learned to whack my shins with a toy sword, to when you learned to question everything, to when you convinced the cooks to give you an extra loaf of bread after supper. I could not be prouder of you too. You can charm the scales off a dragon, and you have the resilience of steel, which I have not seen in anyone else," he smiled, a tear beginning to form in his eye. "To your health, your happiness, and may the Seven bless you and Joffrey, and your progeny, for all the days to come. To you, Tyshara, you deserve it!"
"To you, Tyshara," repeated Johanna, blowing a small kiss at her daughter, whose dress was soaked with tears already.
"To you, my big sister," Cerelle softly said, giving Tyshara a small peck on the cheek.
"And where is my toast?" Johanna asked after drinking her wine, which turned the tears into laughs. "Very well, I shall make a toast too," she laughed, standing up. "Your father already made his toasts to you both, so I would like to raise our cups to all of us. You, Cerelle; you, Tyshara; you, Ty, me, House Lannister, all of us… may our harvests be plentiful, our weathers pleasant, our mines remain rich, our kingdom remains stable, our fortune remains good. To us!"
"To us!" Tyland announced, taking a long drink from his cup until it was empty.
"To us!" exclaimed Tyshara and Cerelle in unison, pointing their cups at Tyland and Johanna.
"Do I have to make one, too?" Cerelle then asked, slightly nervously. "I don't have much to say."
"It's your farewell feast, it's your choice," Tyshara smiled.
"I am not the best at this," she said sheepishly, standing up and raising her cup. "But I would like to make toast to me, since I am the one leaving," Cerelle began, prompting Tyshara to almost roll her eyes. "But also to you both, Mother and Father, and you, Tyshara. I… love you all, truly. That's all I have to say," smiled Cerelle, her cheeks turning rosy.
They all accepted the toast and took a drink of their wine. Tyland could begin to feel the effect of the supper on his stomach and the wine on his head. All he wished to do was sleep, but Tyshara had one final toast to make.
"I could speak for hours," Tyshara began, her face beaming. "About all of you, truly. But I would rather sleep for the journey on the morrow than bore you all," she scoffed before pointing her cup at Cerelle. "So I shall make this final toast to you, Cerelle. My baby sister, so much younger than me," Tyland chuckled, sticking out her tongue. "A lot of the time, I wish I could be you, for good reason. I do not know anyone as patient and caring and gentle as you. You would help me when sewing with the septa, and remembering the histories with old Vyman… you would help me choose which fabrics go best with which jewellery, and you did so much more. If anyone deserves to be a queen, it is you. To your wellness, to Prince Baelon, and whatever beautiful babes you shall birth, and you most of all. My dear, dear sister."
Tyshara emptied her cup and pulled Cerelle up, too. She grabbed her sister into a tight embrace, whispering words in her ear, which made Cerelle splutter and cry. The embrace lasted almost a minute but felt longer and shorter than that at the same time. Tyland and Johanna looked on proudly, and he wrapped his arm around her, letting her rest her head on his shoulder.
Following the toasts, servants cleared the table whilst the bards played an upbeat song to help dry all the tears from the table. During that time, Tyland once again outlined the plans for the morrow, the forthcoming journey to Dragonstone, and what to expect. Everyone nodded along intently until Tyland was done, and it was time to retire to the bedchamber.
Once Tyland and Johanna reached their chambers, they stripped from their clothes and directly into their nightclothes. They were much too tired for anything and decided to rest in their bed one last time, for a long while at least.
"It's going to be a while," Johanna remarked, her head resting on Tyland's chest.
"The carriages are spacious, and we stop in some lord's keep on the way there," Tyland replied, stroking her long brown hair.
"Maybe, but it does not come close to here," she lazily said, her eyes closing.
"Aye…" agreed Tyland, feeling his eyes shut and sleep overtaking him.
The next morning, everything went by in a blur. He couldn't remember his dream, nor waking in the morning, bathing, or whatever he broke his fast with,
By the time Tyland had regained sense of things, he was in the chamber just before the Lion's Mouth, preparing to depart. He wore a few layers of clothing, all shrouded with a maroon and black cloak. His wife and children were dressed similarly, their faces pale in the morning chill.
Along with them were the host that would travel with them, numbering over a thousand. Most people carried the banner of House Lannister, but Tyland also spotted the red lion of Reyne, the peacock of Serrett, the seashells of Westerling, and the badger of Lydden. The host included handmaidens, ladies-in-waiting, and flag-bearers, all eagerly waiting to depart eastwards. And most of all, the host contained more knights and men-at-arms than anyone.
We shall let Dragonstone know that they must treat my girl as befitting her station.
At the head of the host was Tommen, Tyland's younger brother. He was dressed in formal wear, not suited for travelling, and shivered slightly in the cavernous entrance of the Rock. Alongside him was his sixteen-year-old son, Gerion, a frail yet charming lad.
It is a shame Tommen's wife chose to side with her brothers and take up residence at Lannisport.
"It won't be too long, Tom," smiled Tyland, patting his brother on the wrist. "I am certain you shall manage the Rock without it collapsing," he chuckled, which made him roll his eyes.
"You lack faith in me, Ty," Tommen grinned. "Aye, the Rock is in safe hands."
"That is good to hear," said Tyland. "I take that is all."
"One more matter - what if Tion and Lancel try anything foolish whilst you are away?" he asked intently.
"They won't," Tyland bluntly replied. "But if they do, my instructions to Gerold were clear, and you shall give your approval."
"Very well," nodded Tommen. "Only those two, and nobody else," he said, repeating Tyland's explicit instructions. "And remove their tongues, so our Essosi friends do not suspect their identities."
"Good," Tyland said. "Actually, keep them detained here. I want to oversee it myself."
"Very well, it saves me the stress of actually doing it," he shrugged. "That is all, then; I would not wish to delay your journey."
"My thanks, brother," said Tyland, shaking his brother's hand. "For now, the Rock is yours to manage as castellan."
Johanna, Tyshara, and Cerelle then bid their farewells to Tommen, with Tyland's younger brother kissing their hands gently before helping them into the carriage. When everyone had climbed in, he signalled to open the doors and officially commence Tyland's trip to Dragonstone.
The doors of the Lion's Mouth swung open, momentarily blinding Tyland, even if he was inside the carriage. His eyes adjusted to the morning sun, and he could see the bridge ahead of him, heading southwards into the Westerlands proper.
The horses were whipped into action, and the carriages slowly moved. Through the veiled windows of the carriage, the darkness of the interior of the Rock slowly turned to light as they passed through the two-hundred-foot-high doors.
Once they had gotten far enough, Tyshara peeked her head out of the carriage, looking in awe at the Rock behind them. She let the window run through her hair for a while, stretching out an arm at nothing in particular.
"It looks so much bigger from underneath," Tyshara said in amazement, returning back to the cushioned seats of the carriage. "Take a look at it for yourself," she said, encouraging Cerelle.
Cerelle's face was sombre and still, not betraying any sign of happiness or sadness. Her skin was flushed red due to the cold, and her eyes looked tired from a lack of sleep.
"Go on, take a look!" repeated Tyshara, and Cerelle reluctantly agreed.
She stuck her head out of the window, staring out of it for what was about ten or so minutes. After a while, Tyland turned around to look out of the carriage.
Casterly Rock was still visible in the distance, but was shrinking by the moment and was now only the size of his little finger. Soon enough, it became so small that Tyland had to squint to see it properly, so he turned around to sit back in his seat. Across from him, Cerelle still had her head out of the window, and kept staring out of it for five more minutes until she finally came back in.
Cerelle's eyes were red, her cheeks were even redder, and dry tears soaked her cloak. She half-heartedly wiped her eyes with her sleeves, before her twin sister quickly grabbed her. Tyshara wrapped her arms around her shoulder, pulling Cerelle's head to her lap, gently stroking her teary face.
"I… I…" began Cerelle, spit and snot coming out of her nose. "I am well, truly," she managed to say, lifting herself off her sister's lap.
Tyshara kept her arms wrapped around her sister, gently massaging her shoulders and shushing her. Johanna put one hand on Cerelle's knee, gripping it tightly, whilst Tyland leaned over and kissed her forehead.
"We can always turn around," whispered Tyshara, to which Cerelle profusely shook her head.
"No… no turning around, gods…" Cerelle replied, her voice croaky. "It's just the weather… I… I am not even that sad… I don't wish to turn around, no… I just didn't expect to cry when we departed."
Eventually, Cerelle's tears fully dried, and her demeanour seemed slightly more optimistic. She took a long sip of the drink in her satchel and nodded to herself.
"I feel better now," said Cerelle, even if Tyland felt that wasn't entirely true. "You all can cry too, when we say our farewells on Dragonstone," she smiled weakly.
"We shall do that," agreed Tyshara, grabbing ahold of her sister's hand and not letting go.
She won't let go, at least until she has no choice but to.