ARBORVITAE – UNCHANGING FRIENDSHIP
NOBODY COMES to the forest.
It is too foreboding for the Tarly's, who watch the grey clouds of winter cover the expanse of the sky and refuse to leave the warm confinements of their speckled pink towers. They sit by fires and sew and drink ale that dribbles down their chin, and they ignore the message from the Gods, who cover their skies with darkness in warning of their idleness.
There are three inhabitants of the tower, however, who spend long afternoons in the empty forest, in the clearing full of twilight hornflowers. They watch the darkening clouds and smile, for it feels far more like home to be caught in the rain than it is to sit in that poor excuse for a castle for any amount of time.
Caecilia slashes a dull iron sword against the bark of the closest tree. Most of it has been flayed off by this same sword, bark flying everywhere as she follows the movements set out to her by Trevyr. Foot forward, foot back, lunge. Turn. This way. That way. Forward. Back. Duck. Jump. Over and over again. She has begun to mumble his commands in her sleep, and each night, he lays awake for a few minutes longer just to hear her voice copy his.
Lunette sits on a picnic blanket near the edge of the clearing close by, where her laughter rings out as she watches Caecilia stumble when the tree does not immediately give way to her. Or it used to, for now Caecilia has defeated the tree time and time again, and Lunette is forced to watch in awe instead of reading one of the multitude of books she brings outside with her.
The blonde steps away from the flayed tree with a triumphant smile. The sword falls with a soft thud to the flower-clad grass. She huffs out a breath, hands on her hips, and her chest puffs out. Caecilia was never one to gloat, raised to be a proper lady by a mother who hid her pride behind spiteful comments, but now she turns towards her husband and her grin conveys all the smugness she had been far too afraid to show when she first arrived at Horn Hill.
"I think I may be able to take on a couple dozen wolves by now, wouldn't you say dear?"
Trevyr laughs and pushes himself off of the tree he was using to lean. "Shall I fetch them, then, darling? Caecilia pales a little at the suggestion that she will soon be surrounded by bloodthirsty wolves who remember the scent of her blood clinging to their teeth. He laughs again and picks up her discarded sword. One day, he will treat her to a real sword, made of beautiful glimmering steel, that weighs in her hand the blood of all her enemies.
"I must admit you are far better than you were six months ago. Maybe, I shall reward you for it."
"A reward?" She presses her body into the side of his arm and blinks once, twice, thrice up at him. His chuckle is a little throatier than before. His hand curls around her cheek and he tilts her head back so he can press a chaste kiss to her lips. He only ever deepens it when they are having sex.
It does not spark anything inside of her but a gentle warmth that sits in her chest. The same sort of warmth she feels when Lunette braids her hair, or her sisters share their dresses, or her brother allows her to eat his apple.
"I cannot say no to that pretty face." His thumb traces the bone of her cheek. "How about a sword of your own? I shall find the prettiest gem to weld into the hilt." A sword of her own. No more flaying trees. Now, when her heart is threatened, she does not need to rely on a man to save her.
It is an oddly uplifting feeling.
She presses her lips to Trevyr's cheek and thanks him. He laughs as she does it over and over and over again. They have, surprisingly to Lunette, grown closer over the past few months as he has been teaching her swordsmanship. It is much deeper than that of a marriage. Actually, it seems to be friendship.
When Trevyr laughs, he shines his brightness onto Caecilia and she responds in kind. Two shining stars in the dark blanket of the night sky.
Their love will never be something to write ballads about, but it may be enough to just remember. It will leave Lunette feeling proud for the rest of her life. That she may have known them before they were ever like this and that she will know them forever after too.
A single drop of water falls onto her head and she springs up from the picnic blanket.
"Quickly." She cuts into their laughter and their heads snap towards her. "We have stayed too long, the rain is coming."
They canter back to Horn Hill on their horses. Ranger leads the pack like always, his hooves like the sound of falling trees. Daena is close behind, swift as an arrow let loose from the bow, a blur of ink in the distance. Finally, Lunette's ivory palfrey, Dreamfyre, named after a dragon of old lost to a raging war between family. She is not as quick as the other two, but she can jump higher than the other two and Lunette makes a show of it each time.
The three are always happiest when they are riding, their laughs echoing in the grumble of rain racing behind them.
The rain falls in pitter-patters as they reach the stables. Caecilia's soft curls cling to her soaked dress, but she waves off Lunette's concerns as she undoes the saddle on Daena's back. The horse whinnies and presses her nose to Caecilia's head. In the next stable over, Trevyr is soothing Ranger down, the poor horse far too afraid of the ever-growing loudness of the rain falling on the wooden roof high above them. Lunette leans over the stable door and hands over an apple she had picked on the way back. It does, surprisingly, do its job in calming Ranger down and Trevyr is free to undo his saddle and replace it for his favourite chequered blanket.
Every few days the routine is the same. Leave early in the morning before anybody can ask where they are off to. Take breakfast, lunch, and some extra food for snacks. Spend all day in the clearing; Trevyr teaching Caecilia swordsmanship, Lunette reading, the horses grazing. And then, the clouds grow too dark and they leave, arriving home in time for dinner. Nobody asks them where they have been all day and nobody cares. No Tarly cares too much for Caecilia anyway.
They probably would have liked to have her torn to pieces by wolves. She would not have minded much either if she had remembered the rest of her life was to be spent here.
The halls are full of ghostly hauntings – ah, that is just Trevyr's grandmother, whose gnarled fingers curl towards Caecilia as she passes, her reddening eyes narrowing into glares like daggers. If the Stranger does not come for her first, Caecilia might.
"You–" She coughs and splutters. A little bit of blood dots her lips. The Stranger's hand squeezes her neck but she refuses to go away with him – she will live forever to spite his cold embrace. To spite them all, really. Trevyr steps forward to help his grandmother through her coughing fit. When she is done, she shakes him off as if she never really needed his help. She points at Caecilia once more. "You have letters. And you should not spend so much time outside, there is too much redness in your cheeks. Very ugly."
Lunette glares after the elderly woman, her lips pursed and her hands wringing. Caecilia knows all too well that this means that her handmaiden is only a few moments away from throwing a strop on her behalf. She tugs her through the castle walls, Trevyr following close behind, and the three of them enter their bedroom high up the tower.
It is colder up here. Caecilia has gotten used to the chill. They had had a short Spring and an even shorter Summer before the Autumn had swept in with the dying of the leaves on the trees. She watches the red leaves as they dance on the wind even now, a glorious sight to a girl who had been raised where leaves are not allowed to die. A falsity created by her mother who had wished only for Summer for the rest of her life. The Tyrell's shine in Summer. The heat languidly dripping down their skin. Their clothes light and airy, their footsteps even lights, toes curling in soft green grass, long hair falling down bare backs. They bask in the sun like flowers stretching towards the light and they glimmer golden. Nobody takes to Summer quite like the Tyrell's.
"Your letters, my darling." She spins from her usual spot by the window to see Trevyr holding them out towards her. There are two. Both yellowing envelopes. When she takes them in her hand, she runs her fingers over the sigils she recognises well. The first is the Tyrell rose in wax artificially made green through the use of herbs. The second is the Lannister lion in a bloody red.
Trevyr watches her. Lunette watches her. She can feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, the heat prickling at her body. This is the first Lannister letter she has received since her marriage. Just holding it in her hands feels like her very own sword to wield – it is made of Valyrian steel and slashes through her enemies like rushing water. Her fingers tremble as she wraps them around the windowsill. When she sits, the stone is cold through her thick dress. She does not care, far too focused on the roaring lion staring back at her. She recognises the handwriting on the front of the letter.
Opening this letter opens her up to feelings she thought she had pushed down six months ago.
"Trevyr." Their heads snap over to Lunette. Caecilia had not realised Trevyr had been watching her so intensely. Why would a Lannister send her a letter? And why does she look more in love with the letters scrawled across the front than she ever has with him? "Trevyr, I'm going to fetch some wine. Will you help me choose, I'm afraid I have no taste for it at all."
He nods and leads the way out of the room. Before she leaves, Lunette stops at the door and sends a pointed glance over her shoulder at her friend. Caecilia nods in return. She does not have long to read the letter.
As soon as the heavy door falls shut behind her handmaiden, she rips open the yellowing envelope. A few blue petals fall onto the dark green dress she wears. Bellflowers. She would recognise that bright shade of blue anywhere. She pulls out the letter and more fall out so they cover not only her lap, but now have fallen to the floor. She is careful to unfold the letter, fingers grazing over the creases. He would have taken his time folding this, not so good at getting the folds right if he is not paying attention.
She can almost smell him on the paper, in the ink, in the flowers he added just for her.
My Cece, my heart, my darling,
I know it has been a while since we last spoke. Far too long since I saw that beautiful face of yours, except for in my dreams, which you haunt every night when I am simply trying to sleep. I have exciting news that I could not wait to share. In an attempt to show my father that I am simply more than another lordling in fancy clothes, I joined Lord Crakehall's campaign against the Kingswood Brotherhood. I am sure your delightful husband will have told you all about them. You will be pleased to know that Ser Arthur Dayne of the Kingsguard has himself knighted me for my actions during the campaign. There are few times in my life where I am truly this happy, and this must be the first without you to join the memory. I hope that you are happy for me.
How is your husband? Does he keep you happy? I think about our time in the maze far too often. It has gotten to the point where even my heart hurts when my mind lingers on the memory of your skin for too long. I hope, one day, I shall get the chance to feel it beneath my fingers again. Even if for a fleeting moment. That would be enough.
I find that, despite our almost ten months apart, I am still madly in love with you. I may even go mad if I am to spend the rest of my life without seeing you again. I hope that you still hold some affection for me in your heart.
Forever yours,
J
P.S the flowers included are bellflowers I found on my way back to Casterly Rock. According to a hedge knight I met at an inn, they symbolise unwavering love. Although, I am sure you were already well aware of this.
A droplet of water falls onto the paper. Then another. Then another. Caecilia is quick to turn her head away before her tears can ruin Jaime's letter. He was not meant to send her letters, he was not meant to walk back into her life. But, now he has. And now, he will never leave again. She will think of him for the rest of her life. All of the things they could have been a wisp in the wind they could not catch.
She would swallow poison to meet him in death faster.
Lunette's voice carries down the corridor. Caecilia jumps from her seat at the window. Trevyr cannot see this letter. She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, folds the letter perfectly, and fits it in her jewellery box. Please, Gods, do not let Trevyr see this letter. Do not let him know. It would break his heart. She cannot break his heart when it is so kind to her.
The door swings open. She moulds her countenance into an expression of faux surprise and snaps her head up to see Trevyr waiting in the doorway while Lunette sets down the wine on the table.
"Oh, dear, back already? I was just reading a letter from Cersei Lannister. We were not close friends, but she wanted to share the news of her brother's knighthood." The tension rolls off of Trevyr's back like a cloak he can unshed and his lips stretch into a beautiful grin.
"Well done to him. Who knighted him?"
"Ser Arthur Dayne."
"Of the Kingsguard? That is very impressive." He sits at the small round table in the middle of the room with Lunette. Caecilia refuses to meet her friend's eye. She is too afraid of the blush on her cheeks. "Have you opened the letter from your family?"
"Not yet. I was just about to."
"Well, come sit. Have some wine and you can read it here."
She slips into the seat beside him. He pours her some red wine. She slowly peels open the letter. Should she read it aloud? If her mother is to mention Jaime, may that give away the entire game? What would Trevyr do if he knew that Jaime had fucked her before he had? Her hands start to tremble. The Lannister letter was her Valyrian sword. This is the dragon breath that forged it.
"It is from my mother."
"What does she say?"
My Caecilia,
With winter approaching, we do miss your warm presence here in Highgarden. I do wish you could have stayed here instead of that unflattering castle. You should visit more – does your husband not allow you outside?
Alerie is bursting at the seams with the new babe, she is sure to give birth any day now and we shall have another of Mace's mousy-haired children screaming as they run. Garlan and Willas have been playing with those damn wooden swords all day, every day. They barely attend their studies. What does their father say of this? Barely anything, of course, far too busy overindulging in everything but being Lord. Oh, how I wish you could have been the eldest.
Janna is finally betrothed. It took her long enough to choose, always a fussy thing when it comes to men. She is to marry Jon Fossoway after Lord Whent's tourney at the end of next month. Do not bring the rest of your husband's family, I do not need their dour faces ruining another of my daughter's weddings.
Talking of the Tourney, I am sure you have heard of Jaime Lannister's knighthood by now. Tywin – damn bugger that he is – has decided to throw his son a party in our castle instead of his own. He claims as it is on the way to Harrenhal, it shall be easier for everyone to be in attendance. This is your formal invitation for you and your husband to attend the party and stay with us until we must depart for the Tourney. I do hope you will bring Lunette, her father misses her dearly and his sour mood is starting to affect us all.
Please come quick for your youngest sister is driving me mad.
Warm Regards,
Olenna Tyrell
She reads it aloud for the other two, pleased that the mention of Jaime is barely noticeable. Trevyr laughs when his family is mentioned and there are tears in Lunette's eyes. She misses Highgarden just as much as Caecilia does. Soon enough, they will be back there. In the glittering halls, lazing in the Autumn sun, riding boats along the Mander. If she is lucky, she may even convince Trevyr that they could stay with enough food, with enough wine, with enough talk of babies.
He leans across the table to tuck a stray caramel curl behind her ear. His touch is always cold on her warm skin. Moon kisses to fill her veins with starlight. Jaime's touch is as warm as she is, sunlight to wash over her.
"You must be happy to be able to visit home."
She nods, still staring down at her mother's handwriting. Home. It has been almost a year since she rode away from Highgarden, staring out of the window of the carriage at the beautiful white turrets shrinking the further they got away. She was a flower shrinking away from the sun, but now it has come back around and she will blossom once again, even more beautiful than before.
Trevyr watches the smile spread across her face. He knows she does not like it much here. He has found that he does not either. He would rather be in Highgarden, watching the sun glimmer on her skin, kissing freckles along her arms. She may love him more there, where they will both smile as they throw grapes into one another's mouths, and they need not worry about the chill in the air where his family walk and leave them behind. He could kiss her without fear of her rejection.
The three of them share wine and talk of Highgarden. Lunette tells stories of her father, of her brother, of the laughter she and Caecilia shared often. They were never mischievous in their youth, but they would whisper together often, heads bowed low so nobody could hear a single thing they uttered. They were always so fond of one another, more like sisters than Caecilia is to her own blood. Caecilia tells more stories of her family. Mace falling into the Mander in front of some noble lady he was trying to woo. Mina cutting all the heads from all the roses Janna had just picked in a fit of anger. Janna, in retaliation, taking all of Mina's dresses and setting them on fire. Caecilia would watch them all, laughing, and never get involved. She was not their mother, it was not her place. And it was not like her mother cared much either, far too preoccupied with garnering all sorts of information of all of her enemies, and all of her friends, and all of her in-betweens. Information she can use against them. Children are not so good for that sort of thing.
Their mother would make a wonderful queen. She does not make such a great mother.
Before Caecilia falls asleep that night, she slips out of bed, listening to Trevyr's snores and takes Jaime's letter from its hiding place. She sits in the moonlight and reads, fingers tracing the familiar scrawl set out in front of her. She commits the words to memory so that when she lays in bed, she can see the letters dancing in front of her.
When she awakes, she throws the letter into the fire and watches it crumble to ash. It is safer destroyed than it ever would be hidden in her jewellery box. Better to be gone completely than to be found and used against them both.
Just like a flower grows in the light of the sun, her love only festers in the heat of the flame.