.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

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.

One time Kyra's ear apprehended a hushed conversation between the kitchen staff that peaked her interest. She ceased peeling the potatoes and turned.

''I heard, Tyrion Lannister was captive in the Eyrie.''

They went on to elucidate on what had gone down in some inn located in crossroads. Apparently Lady Catelyn Stark called upon the banner's of her house to take the imp hostage.

The servants hummed and dried some plates forming a pile that would be taken inside. They agreed between them with a knowing look. Despite herself, Kyra interjected.

''What will happen to Tyrion?''

Startled at first, the two snapped their heads but upon being welcomed by Kyra's curious eye goggling they relaxed. One of them leaned on the table waving with a knife as they carried out the gossiping.

''The god's will pass judgment.''

Kyra tilted her head, inquiringness still set on her soft features. In means of clarifying the servant gestured with the knife over the nape, mimicking a clean incision. The potato in her hands falls to the basket, her eyes widened in terror.

Truth be told, Kyra didn't know Tyrion Lannister well. They had become acquainted when she slipped away from the King's quarters one evening, he immediately understood who she was by the wit sparkling in his eye. He had bid Kyra goodnight, she couldn't be sure if it was mocking by the amusement tickling at his lips but she decided to reciprocate in good spirits. Tyrion had paused to face the girl, a genuine smile grew and when he glanced up and down Kyra's body, she felt seen. Not gawked at and taken apart like most Westerosi men did, their primitive minds could only undress her during first contact, which could be fun but throughout the month became exhausting.

After that they would always greet each other. They exchanged some brief notes, polite and quite delightful. Nothing like the heinous image people painted about the imp.

Kyra had even given him some flowers when their paths crossed in the gardens. The little ones that had just flourished, awakened by the morning beams, and on occasion she had told Tyrion the meaning behind the stunning sprout. That led to Tyrion coyly gifting a daffodil to Kyra before departing to the North; however he had no idea what it meant, he said so. Veiling her nose with the white petals with the gilded crown, Kyra giggled.

If someone were to see them in that moment, Kyra and Tyrion would seem like a pair of enamored youth courting. Kyra shook her head at the thought, imperative of getting rid of the butterflies, batting them away from the rest they made of her limbs. Foolish thought.

One thing was certain, the daffodil did bear new beginnings.

The story had made a bend, Kyra traded a wicker cage for one of red stone. She was yet to discover some harmony within but as long she could evade the cracks of the cage, Kyra would be fine. When the structure of the palace no longer serves her, disappearing would come easy. Another maid would supplant the vacancy, and Kyra would move on to the next place. In a way, her life had been so far a daffodil falling after the other.

She told Tyrion the meaning of the flower would be revealed once he came back. What stupid quip, the girl could not be sure why she said that in the first place. It just seemed fun at the time, something to look for, and Tyrion had also found beguilement in the provocation. His protests died without much fight, their breath short and mellow, and Kyra floated away in a fit of laughter. She glanced back one last time, Tyrion's canines caught his lower lip not even trying to hide the wide smirk.

Now, it just seemed cruel. The possibility of Tyrion never learning how much she loved the daffodil, casted a cloud upon Kyra's spirits. She fixed her eyes on the little fragments of rocks scattered within the granite of the wall washing the potatoes with tepid water. She polished, sweeped, cleaned the windows, attended to the praying areas, served meals, gossiped, danced,... Again and again in an endless feast of dust.

A fortnight went in a rush, since the King had perished and everything went wrong. Kyra was down in Flea Bottom, an unusual affair during the light, perusing the market from one from beginning to end. Upon discovering Vida's nameday was just around the corner, Kyra set on a quest to find a present. Melancholy breached the armor of the perpetual enthusiastic natural, warm green eyes showed signs of winter when she couldn't place the exact day of her birth. Yet Kyra had risen to occasion, arm over the woman's shoulder and happy squeal announcing that they would just have to hold feast and tournaments for a week like the royals. And so, they did. Grand nights in luxurious inns, three in a roll already, drinking the finest ale and tapping their feet with the most lovely folk until their legs sore. The next morning they would drag themselves back into work and hope not to fall asleep on a bucket of dirty water. Tonight would be a little different though, Vida had invited a few friendly face off duty to her own house. A calmer night to rest the bones, dine and drink in moderation and most importantly gather with her family. Kyra had already seen the husband on the first feast, he accompanied Vida to the tavern and drank one cup before going to another group. She would be also meeting the children, for that a sweet was warranted.

Kyra eyed round brown cakes with irregular chunks of something darker in shade. She opened her lips in question of the recipe but a thump on her side almost caused the basket she carried to tumble. The woman hand-to-hand to another continued in a way before Kyra could even transmit her grievance, more people followed in a rush at the perceiving of the Baelor's bells. No one would stop to explain the girl bet, so in hesitant steps Kyra pursued the pilgrimage. She found herself smiling imagining the masses to be a line of worker ants going back to the hillock, leaves and crumbs on their backs and little feelers on their heads guiding the way. Soon the line morphed into a column, and getting to a clearing the people spread in front of the sept to watch and yell, there were a lot of screams and insults being thrown around.

Regretful, Kyra attempted to leave but the path was blocked and she was forced to watch, lungs crushed by the bloodthirsty crowd. She closed her eyes when a sword was lifted and the head rolled to the ground.

Kyra rushed to the Red Keep, tears in her eyes and lips trembling. One of her friends bumped into her bringing to the sanctuary of the pots and silverware. Forcing the words out felt like sandpaper on the tongue, the more as she had to repeat a few times due to all the sobbing.

''The Hand is dead.''

The small announcement was soon being spread across all the corners of the castle. In a hushed tone, it took a lot of restraint not to attract the high lords' attention but the shock was evident. Lord Eddard's arrest had been a scandal, everyone could only comment about it from the moment it happened in the throne room. No one expected him to die. No.

A Stark, the warden of the North, how could the gods bring that fate upon him? Everyone kept acting incredulous, thus Lord Eddard Stark was god, endless and unbeatable. She did not like that since he was but a man.

''All men must die.''

The servant girls nearby flinched, stroking them as distasteful to say such a thing. It was true, the most fundamental truth of all; they would all succumb to the vices of the earth, of time and it was no discomfort to acknowledge. All must die so let them do their bid.

For one another part they were right, as the limits of decency became blurred the range of the King's cruelty widened. He was wicked and quick to anger, the young servant had tried giving him the benefit of the doubt. If not to ease Kyra's heart then to respect the memory of Robert Baratheon.

Yet madness played out in the walls, no subject in the clear be it of high station or not. All puppets in the entertainment of a raged silly lion, mane bestowed in the shape of a golden crown and sapphires but certainly not earned. Their paths hadn't crossed, thank the heavens, but so far Kyra had witnessed unjustified killing, sadistic tendencies, nonsensical orders being barked around... It was heartbreaking, the wish to do something great as she watched a young girl being thrown around, beaten, but the desire to live another was greater.

Everytime thoughts alike plagued her, Kyra prayed to the gods for forgiveness. Had she been born breathing fire, Kyra would have used the gift and slayed the beast herself. For the blaspheme of her nature, she could only watch and yield. Thus Kyra kept living in whatever bliss she could entwine between her fingertips.

At least some good always comes through, she heard about Tyrion surviving the trial in the Eyrie. Vida told her she heard from her husband. He had gone to an inn one night and crossed paths with a knight of the Vale; he had not been there during the infamous trial of the imp. Yet the men told stories of how an improvable champion rose to the occasion and saved Tyrion of the knife. Or better said, a nose-dive through the Moon Door.

''What is a Moon daor?'' Kyra inquired, an accent she hadn't allowed to show so far slipping in the familiar word.

''Moon Door, it's a gate to the sky, it goes nowh're. They dump criminals in there.''

Vida answered with a shrug, resuming getting her youngest ready for the day. Dropping her legs over the bed, Kyra furrowed her eyebrows and adjusted Meya, Vida's daughter, on her lap.

''Why do they call it moon, then? Do they only open it at night?''

Vida laughed, for a long moment she considered what to say. First she let her son, Travan, run along to play outside, then turned to Kyra with another shrug.

''The noblemen are insane.''

They could agree to that much. Be it in Westeros or the Free Cities, noblemen have eccentric tastes, laughable at times. Mostly their quirks can be quite scary, why is it the scary people always stand on top? Or do they become monsters once they see the world as their oyster? Either way, in the secluded home of Vida's they could giggle and no one would get hurt.

The same could not be said inside the Red Keep. The King's depravity divulged to be the sickest quirk the world had ever seen. For his nameday there was a tourney, yet Kyra had never seen an event such as that. In spite of all the senseless violence, the spirits of the people were elevated in their cheers and hopes. When Robert was king, it was fun to be part of the crowd and applaud as one to each opponent, seeing them fall and get back up again was inspiring in a way. Now everyone attended and shouted to keep appearances, wishing for once the king behaved but to no avail. Soon enough Kyra perceived a terrified wail from above, she cleaned the blood in the floor and thanked the gods she stood below the platform. Nowhere near King Joffrey's sight was excellent for her.

She dreamed about returning to the Summer Isles. To the soothing heat, the sandy beaches of blistering white and the winds pushing her onwards. She missed the rain forest, the humid atmosphere even, and the deadly gorgeous beasts. Kyra wanted to embrace her people, feel her tongue roll in her native language and make love the way the gods intended; thank them for their all gifts spread across the world.

Westeros felt like a dark pit, sometimes she could not see the beauty they were graced with but she was not blinded. There were always remains, Kyra just had to search for them... Wasn't that the reason she traveled in the first place?

Yes but. Kyra missed her brothers, her dear sisters. She longed for peace.

''Beloved nephew!''

A voice called from about, one nailed to her mind but for a second Kyra thought it's a mistake. Yet it sounded again, rich with wit and strong. The precise words he was uttering sometimes evaded her, Kyra tried to catch a glimpse of his face but the wall was too tall; Tyrion Lannister disappeared as quick as he had made his presence in King's Landing known.

Face casted down lost in thought, two hopeful brown eyes light up at the good news. The girl realized she had to find him, if not only to say goodbye.

Half a day had gone by and Kyra still hadn't put her eyes on him. She was growing a bit restless, going back and forth the Red Keep and she had been lucky not to be called upon when some redecorating woke in the throne room. The treasure hunt was forfeit after noon and she went back to the kitchen to succor supper, at making her appearance Vida was at once interrogating her. Where had she been all morning? Did anything occur? Kyra was honest and admitted she had been looking for the Lannister.

Vida tilted her head in admiration but she did not press for clarification. The older woman did have a dram smirk on her kind thin lips, yet she wasted no more time as there was a lot of work delayed.

''Nay more wandering, go clean the Hand's room.''

''The Hand's room?'' Kyra furrowed.

''Square not, now run along!''

Kyra did not understand what could be so amusing that had Vida as she returned back to cooking. If there was something Kyra disliked more was making beds but she went anyway. There were already a couple of maids when Kyra arrived, she swept the dust, scrubbed the floor and tucked away the belongings of Ned Stark in a chest. She struck conversation with the other girls arranging a vase with mayflowers and light-hued pink roses, and the moment Kyra found the courage to request one of them to make the bed the door opened.

Out of habit their conversation vanished at the sight of noble blood, the maids bowed and Kyra was struck for a beat of her own heart. Tyrion Lannister, confused at first stumbled at the entry then he smiled and let a fur bag fall to the ground, two servants followed him with the rest of his belongings. Too preoccupied branding a reminder to thank Vida, the girl didn't realize she had forgotten her manners instead Kyra turned to the other maids and reassured them she would finish. After all, they had been working already when she got to the room, so it was only fair.

He went by Kyra, and she finally offered a modest 'my lord'. At least until they were being watched, she had learned it was proper for Westerosi. The belongings were placed by the windows and the crowd left with a bow each, the door closed and Kyra discarded the sheets to the air. She swirled, skirt round and dark like a raven but twice as graceful; her eyes set upon him with mirth, Tyrion was already regarding her.

''It's delightful to see a familiar face.''

The man beat her in acquiring the first word, but Kyra didn't take offense. She didn't waste anymore time and advanced to hug him, first Tyrion didn't reciprocate which had her think it hadn't been a wise decision; however, it didn't take long for him to squeeze her waist. They both laugh, Kyra wasn't sure of the reason. Relief? Yearning to see each other again?

''I am joyous you are here, my lord.'' Kyra parted from the embrace to face him.

''It did prove to be a long journey, many hardships.''

''So I've heard.''

Kyra got back on her feet, skimming towards the bed she patted the spot next to her in hope of inviting him to join. Shifting his feet around the space, Tyrion prioritized bringing a goblet of wine for them.

''You've heard of my ventures?''

''Idle kitchen talk.''

Tyrion hummed at the answer. Then he offered the goblet and she accepted with ease, their fingers brushing in the process and the girl's lips tugged in a lopsided grin.

''But I want the real tale.'' Kyra concluded.

Finally sat, Tyrion made a face at the dull mattress though he did not comment. He got comfortable, elbow stretching into the bed and supporting his torso. Kyra sipped on the wine positioning the golden goblet on the floor next to the bed.

''Let's see.'' Pensive, Tyrion's eyes toured the ceiling. ''I pissed at the edge of the Wall, was imprisoned and slept on a sky cell and I was almost sentenced to death...''

''Oh oh! Vida told me about the Moon Door!''

''Really?'' He asked, exposing his teeth in a grin.

''Why is it called a Moon Door?''

''Oh, there's a tiny drawing of a crescent moon carved in wood.''

There was a pause, Kyra stared blankly as she managed the information then the girl fell back on the mattress in a fit of laughter. The curly black hairs spread on the ruffled sheets in wreath framing her face which Kyra covered with her delicate fingers. She laughed some more and it felt like music, even though Tyrion had no clue of the motive, he felt to be in on the joke. Kyra trailed her hands to her neck revealing the biggest smile, she had visible dimples and her dark skin glowed with some droplets gathered from working; Tyrion thought she was the most beautiful person to ever grace his company.

''What a silly reason...'' She said, ''but I'm glad you're well, Lord Tyrion.''

The man didn't respond, in lieu Tyrion angled his head forward, fingers playing with the rim of the goblet before drinking a grand gulp of wine.

''What of you?'' Tyrion spoke softly.

The arrival in King's Landing was novel but Kyra was certain the man had already caught some whispers about the horrors. Not everything had been awful on her but when he asked, all serious and mellow, Kyra accepted the warmth of safety. Of feeling like it was admissible to admit of not so positive perceptions.

''King Robert is dead, I'm sure you heard.''

He nodded, attentive mismatched eyes focused on her.

Vida also made her feel safe, but it was different. Although Kyra considered her the dearest friend from Westeros, she comforted Kyra like a mother who did not wish to see her offspring weep; children never want to sadden their mothers. Whereas with Tyrion, she felt honest and bare.

''Then Ned Stark was executed. I did not know him personally but he was Robert's friend. It was just... sad. Everything was very sad.''

''It was very sad.'' Tyrion agreed. ''I'm sorry you had to witness it.''

Kyra shook her head in order to rid herself of the sorrow, she came to rampant her upper body on her elbows and the resigned smile forced on her features hinted that she did not wish to dwell further down. Instead, she told him the meaning of daffodils.

NOTES

WELL WELL

Some changes were made, I've decided our dear Kyra comes from the Summer Isles! It's also very hard to find old illustrations of daffodils, so pls I will fight whoever tells me the image above is a rose 😇

thank you for reading, happy new year <3