the way it ends [ tyrion lannister ]

𝐢. 𝐝𝐚𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐥

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The dim-lit room Robert Baratheon died stinked of blood and alcohol, a scent that seemed to always follow him everywhere he went. No burning of exotic oils or candles would change the fate now. Like a hanged man holding tight to his rope, the King died as he lived - drunk and in bed.

The servants moved everywhere to refresh the place and prepare the space for Silent Sisters' arrival. Kyra melted away into the crowds, head casted down hiding a red nose she slipped to the walls of the castle. She had no idea where to move, how to reach the outside even, the night Kyra arrived was dark and full of secrets. An iron grip pulled her forearm, her breath got caught in her throat and she cursed herself for leaving a flower on the bedside table. It was what undid her, for sure.

A lilac harebell, innocent and beautiful, in truth Kyra's way of saying farewell. Rest now in skies of white clouds and amethyst light, we'll meet again.

Kyra turned, resigned to her luck, the eyes golden and sweet she met smiled at her. Not in gleam but in understanding of her sorrow, Vida guided away and allowed her to cry in her skirts. She was an older woman, could've been her mother in another life, in this one she was but a wetnurse and devoted servant. Above that all, Vida was a compassionate being full of love and patron of gentle touches. The fate of Kyra shifted as she was asked if she wished to go back to the outside.

It was a hard question really. For once, Kyra loved the wind catching her rich locks and the freedom an open space provided. She missed it but the barbaric nature of King's Landing wasn't enticing, so Kyra chose to stay. What would be awaiting her anyways? A place in the brothel, surely. Not that she considered the vocation beneath her; it is a most respectable job but Westerosi didn't cherish love. Nonetheless it had put food on the table when she most needed.

No, Kyra was simply tired and saddened by the death of her friend and the choices which lead her to that unsteady footing. Did she trade the Summer Isles for this?

Embracing the warmth of Vida, the young girl threw herself at work. Polishing, sweeping, cleaning the windows, attending to the praying areas, serving...Wherever she was required to fill an absence or a heavier workload. In the kitchen the servants gossiped and Kyra indulged, even participated once she could name the lords and ladies. Vida always salvaged a piece of cake for her little apprentice, they would share at Kyra's insistence in the cloak of the nighttime. Sometime in their free time, Kyra and friends of service would take on Flea's Bottom to dance and laugh.

It was like that for a while. However, in the meantime dark shadows casted their pointed and vile fingers just around the corner. Conspiracies in court created discordance, perhaps moments of succession just called for chaos. Kyra did enjoy hearing her friends talk of politics but the affair of the royals little really mattered to her. What she really liked was to regard how exaggerated they became, her friends all red and chest square as they disagreed on the consequences. With all the North shall retaliate, and the South this, the West is Lannister so shall stand with the crown, and she stopped listening, instead resorting to teasing. Which got them even more frustrated.