Chapter Text
When an old man’s flesh and bones began to rot, a small babe rose to guide them all. Lord Cyrill Tyrell perished at the age of one-and-forty with no big achievement to contribute to his name and legacy—except the few bastards born of his seed. He was not considered a seasoned man, his first born Lady Roslyn recalled, just a mere green boy of mind who couldn’t accept his aging body.
His funeral had been a dreadful thing. The remaining Tyrells, the Lady of Highgarden; the first legitimate daughter; the knightly Pride of Highgarden and the new Little-Lord of the Reach, had to bear the insulting presence of the disdainful and greedy Flowerseeds as Lord Cyrill’s cheek was kissed three times by his Lady wife, his young brother and trueborn daughter. As he was given his House sigil, three golden roses for harmony. As his rotting body was covered by dirt. As the gardeners approached and planted seeds of roses. ‘For we may be no longer but growing strong we always will be’ . Beautiful as they might be, those six natural born—four boys and one girl—, none had grown strong in the womb of the Lady Elyse of House Fossoway. What a pity of a father and brother! For he had ignored the unceasing questioning regarding his Flowerseeds by the hands of my Lady Mother and Uncle Calisto.
A few days later a dark sentiment had settled on Highgarden, too many observing eyes accompanied by sounds of whispers regarding the fate of the Great House for both the unwanted Flowerseeds and the division of the Realm had provoked an uneasiness about the succession, even if it was written on stone that her sweet brother of two was already Lord Edwyn, Head of House Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South. Roslyn considered it preposterous that nowadays the claims and lordships of trueborn sons could be forsaken by sisters and bastards! It was purely evil. She listened to the raindrops falling against the classic white marble railing while laying down on her pearly pink silk sheets; not only were they affected by the political riffs between royals but the ambience of the castle was as stuffing as ever with the unbearable heat and humid air brought by the seasonal torrential rains. Suddenly, one of her maids, Lillya, entered her chambers breathing unevenly and red faced.
“Lady Roslyn! Lady Roslyn! I must beg for forgiveness because of my poor manners m’Lady, nevertheless I bring news, Lady Tyrell and Ser Calisto urge you to come quickly to Lord Tyrell’s study”. The auburn haired Tyrell grabbed her light blue satin robe embroidered with silver roses and began to walk as fast as she could while still remaining proper. Ladies do not run, sweetling, her mother always said. She felt the necessity of scratching herself increasing exponentially by every step taken as if bugs had appeared and crawled on her body. Unconsciously she followed Lillya, who guided Roslyn to what once had been her Lord Father’s study, which she had seen little of in her five-and-ten years of life and if rumors were to be believed even the former Lord Tyrell had rarely used it. Highgarden was considered by many the most beautiful castle throughout the whole Realm for its esplendor relied on the well-kept gardens filled with almost magical flowers of all kinds and colors like lilacs, peonies, azaleas and so-on. Ivy, grapes and climbing roses decorated all the tall strong walls made of marble and white stone that had big glass windows, some of them being stained glass drawings and scenes demonstrating the family’s history. Similar to the outside, the halls and rooms formed part of a complex labyrinth where one could get lost if they put their mind onto it.
The mahogany wooden door that led to the study was carved with their sigil. Roslyn’s maid knocked twice and opened it carefully. “M’lady, Ser Calisto, the Lady Roslyn is here”. As she was announced, the young Tyrell noticed the state of the room and tried unsuccessfully to remember if it had previously been furnished with a dornish green carpet under the long dark wooden table adorned with pink roses on a green-and-white leaf patterned vase. Both her Lady Mother and her dear Uncle sat on the far right of the table, the former’s eyes shone with disappointment and the latter wore an unusual frown. The tension of the room could be cut by a knife and anxiously she sat in front of Calisto, raising an eyebrow at him. What has happened now? Roslyn asked silently.
Lady Elyse looked at the nine-and-ten and five-and-ten year olds respectively, “Roslyn, Calisto stop now! How many times have I told you that it's disrespectful to ignore people? Must I drill the lesson into your heads?”.
The young knight decided to ignore his good sister, “My sweet sister. I thank you for always appearing in the bestest of times!”, he smiled, “As much as I wish to enjoy you playing the harp beautifully while drinking, we have important matters to address”. Roslyn’s heart could not help but flutter every time he called her “my sweet sister” for she had confessed to him many years ago that she felt the Mother had intended them to share the closeness between siblings despite being uncle and niece in reality. Since then Calisto swore to protect and love her as a big brother and thus they were referred to as ‘The Rose Siblings’, for they were seen together most of the time, agreed to each other’s opinions and no-one dared to provoke one of them as they would receive the wrath of the other. Roses have thorns too.
“We have received…”, Lady Elyse paused and looked nervously at her daughter. She began again “We have received contradictory news for now that King Viserys is… well dead. The Seven Kingdoms have been thrust into a severe crisis over who will rule and we—since the Head of our house is no more than a little babe—must decide whom we support as the legitimate ruler or whether we should implicate ourselves in this war”.
Roslyn observed her Lady Mother profoundly, she had never been this meek, nursing a cup of wine, rosy lips pressed together into a fine line, shoulders slumped as in defeat. She is all wrong, all wrong, she should be acting as the proud Lady of Highgarden she is, not as she was a little mouse that found itself cornered by big cats. Her mannerisms contrasted heavily with her appearance; a woman's graceful, slender and tall body blessed with voluminous wavy chestnut-like brown hair, fairer than most, emerald green eyes, full lips and heart shaped face. She loved her Lady Mother, for she had been the one that held her hand until she fell asleep every night, for she had taught her the language of music, for she had brushed her hair with care. Nonetheless, the mirthful smiles had long turned into deep scowls, pinched arms and it seemed she had grown to resent her own daughter as time passed. The serious woman the Tyrell household knew had crumbled. Roslyn laughed and laughed and laughed until tears began to fall off her emerald doe eyes.
Calisto reached her hands and she found herself returning to normal as her thumb drew soothing patterns into his skin. “Mother, I believe the decision is as clear as water for Prince Aegon is the true heir to the Iron Throne”.
He followed her, “The matter is quite simple and the thought of choosing who will reign non existing, for as Roslyn remarks, he is the first born son and brothers inherit before sisters. Should we let Princess Rhaenyra and her bunch of lowly bastards claim a right that is not theirs? Did you forget yourself, good sister? For no good thing will come to our family if she rules the Realm, the Flowerseeds could and would steal Edwyn’s lordship in an instant”.
At the mention of the Little Lord, her Lady Mother straightened. “My sweet Edwyn is the reason House Tyrell will stand neutral during this madness, we will protect his lordship, the Flowerseeds will be dealt with and when the war ends Highgarden will be stronger. He is nothing but a small babe and that is the card—”“The card House Tyrell will hide behind, you mean”, Roslyn interrupted. As the last word left her mouth she regretted it, her mother disliked people that could not be patient and wait for someone to make their point, it is not proper to speak over someone. Lady Elyse did not utter a word towards her, the slight punished by an unexpected slap in her cheek. Calisto rose from his chair, right hand going straight to his sword pommel. All of them were well aware he would not unsheath the steel sword next to his hip. The room temperature seemed to have risen or maybe it is the hotness of my face, Roslyn stupidly thought. The discussion between the three of them ended, families were always picking sides, the Targaryens and now the Tyrells, never agreeing on something. Her Lady Mother walked without making a sound towards the door.
“Remember your place, good sister, for you are a Tyrell only in marriage, both of us were born into the house that controls the might of the Reach. What we decide will be treated as law and you will follow.”
She left and Roslyn wanted nothing more than to cry.