Tertius711
patreon
High Tide: Chapter 22
🕑 Added 2023-05-20 09:35:01 +0000 UTCThe Lady of the Vale
Twelfth Moon, 90 AC
Breaking your fast with your mother and sisters should have been an opportune time to strengthen family bonds. Daella just wasn’t sure about any of that happening today. Her eyes moved around the room, observing her kin.
Jocelyn, was as kind as she remembered. Her hair remained as black as a raven’s feathers, and her eyes were still that dark purple, so dark they were almost black until the light shone on them. She had once been quite close to Jocelyn, so much so that her brother Boremund had been considered a potential husband for her. That was not meant to be ultimately, but they had remained close nonetheless.
Her daughter was her spitting image, though her eyes were her father’s pale violet. Little Rhaenys had been a petite and precocious child, always eager to play with her aunt. She was not so little anymore. At seven and ten, Rhaenys was six feet tall towered over Daella’s own short stature of barely five feet and two inches. It was to be expected, with her mother but an inch shorter, and her father two inches taller, but it had taken Daella time to adjust to the little girl she had once known becoming so tall and grown up.
When Daella looked at her now, she didn’t see just her niece, she saw the queen in waiting, as her mother had proclaimed her at court before. Her back was straight, her demeanor graceful and poised. She was as elegant as she was strong, as clever as she was daring. Rhaenys seemed to flip perfectly between the roles of lady and heir. Daella hoped her own daughter might one day be like her cousin.
Her adorable little Aemma was sweet and lovely, with a streak of mischief and adventure that Daella herself had not had at her age. As soon as she overcame her shyness when meeting strangers, her girl truly bloomed in the right company. Gael and her had both scarfed down their meal before running off together. Daemon and Borros were likely waiting for them somewhere.
While she wasn’t quite sure of how good an influence the rowdy and mischievous Daemon and Borros were for her girl, Daella trusted in Gael to keep her safe. She had been a babe last she had seen her, but she had grown up well, and was responsible for her age. She found herself feeling a kindred spirit in Gael, for both of them had been frail and assumed simple by the Maesters when they were young. Her mother had encouraged Gael to open up and be brave after learning of what Daella had done, and the effects had been incredible. She felt immeasurably proud of her youngest sister.
“Daella, pass me the honey please,” Maegelle asked. Daella did as asked, her short dainty arms reaching for the jar of honey to pass to her sister.
They had been close once. She was the sister Daella had loved most when they were young. Alyssa had run after Baelon, Maegelle had toddled after Alyssa, and Daella had in turn clung to Maegelle.
Maegelle had been her guiding star. She had been the only person Daella had not been afraid to sing for. Daella had long been told her voice was sweet, but she had always gotten the words wrong and felt embarrassed. Yet Maegelle had made her feel encouraged when everyone else in court would have only laughed at her behind her back. It was Maegelle who had guided her to her faith in the Seven. Daella had taken comfort in her older sister’s soothing presence away from the whispers of the court, as she had tried to teach her the prayers and hymns. It was Maegelle who had first sat with her and tried to teach her to read when the maester had given up on her.
But Maegelle had also abandoned Daella. When she was only eight years old, their mother had promised Maegelle to the Faith, and her sister had eagerly accepted and gone south to Oldtown to study as a novice. Daella had been left behind. Her star had abandoned her. She had felt so very alone. Nothing had seemed right in the world then.
She had failed more and more in her lessons without Maegelle’s tutoring and encouragement, and with it, Vaegon’s cruel remarks only worsened. Daella had always disliked Vaegon, but she had come to truly abhor his presence that year, especially after he had called her stupid in front of the entire court. She remembered she had run from the room in tears, and not even her mother had been able to make her calm down.
Even the animals turned on her. Her pet kitten had scratched her and rebuffed her love. A bee had stung her in the gardens, making her scared to even go outside. She had grown more and more terrified of anything and everything around her.
That was when a new star had shone its light upon her. Alyssa had always terrified her, she was so loud, so daring, so wild. And yet that wild elder sister had championed her. She had poured a flagon of wine on Vaegon in rebuke for his cruel words, and Daella had watched as she had thrown him around the yard for it a few weeks later.
Despite Alyssa’s rebukes, Vaegon had never repented or changed his attitude toward her. In fact, he had gotten even worse afterward, and Daella was glad to see the back of him when he left for the Citadel a few years later. A guilty part of Daella had felt glad to see his humiliation. The Seven taught that one should not feel pleased to see the suffering of others, especially not their kin, but Daella had not been able to shake the feeling, no matter how hard she tried.
Guilt did not erode her gratitude however. Alyssa had defended her, and so from then on, Daella had followed her as closely as she had followed Maegelle. She had bristled at first, as she had when Maegelle had followed her, but eventually she had warmed to Daella. Maegelle had taken Daella under her wing and taught her in cloistered rooms but Alyssa shielded her from the rigors of court, and the worst of Saera’s pranks.
Her gaze turned upon her. She looked bored, as if breaking fast with her mother and sisters was not of any interest to her. Saera noticed her gaze and smirked. Daella felt her anger rise despite herself. Saera had always been able to provoke her anger, even more than Vaegon had.
When she had been younger and more naïve, Daella had honestly wondered if Saera was a demon from the Seven Hells interloping in her family. A twisted creature of spite and malice wearing the face of a human, cruel and vicious. The things she had done to the court fool Tom Turnip, attested. And Saera had been no less vicious to her own flesh and blood.
She was younger than her by three years, but Daella could barely recall a time when Saera had ever held any proper love and respect for her as her elder sister. Ever since they were young, she had always tormented her. She would trip her as they passed in the corridors, destroy her things, and play on her fears. Saera had known she had hated and feared cats, so she had constantly snuck cats into her room. Once she had even filled her chamberpot with bees. Daella hadn’t even known until she had gone to relieve herself, and she had been stung severely, needing treatment from the Grand Maester.
Saera had not been punished at first. Her father and eldest brothers had never taken Saera’s pranks seriously, and her mother’s warnings and reprimands had never seemed to last or work. Even her mother had been fooled that time, as Saera had insisted her innocence, even gone so far as to provide witnesses attesting that she was elsewhere.
But Daella had seen her smile of triumph and gloating. Seen that smug smirk as their eyes had met. With no one else to turn to, she had turned to Alyssa for protection once again. Alyssa had smiled and told her she would handle it. All she asked was that she keep silent.
Weeks passed and Saera was the recipient of many cruel pranks, many of which were the exact mirror of those she had done to Daella. Some had suspected her of retaliating at first but then dismissed the idea when they remembered what she was like. Each time Saera was pranked, a message was left demanding she confess or the pranks would continue. When Saera finally broke and confessed, she was punished severely by their mother. Alyssa had smirked at her when they had heard the news, and had raised her finger to her lips, shushing her.
Saera had never dared to attack her so overtly again. Words became her new weapon as she picked up where Vaegon had left off, tearing at what little pride Daella had, deriding her wit and courage and dripping poison with every word. And the pranks continued eventually, less obviously, enough to avoid suspicion.
Alyssa never went after Saera again, because Daella had never asked. She had felt guilty to have troubled her beloved elder sister, and to have stooped to Saera’s level. She had tried to harden herself, so the words and pranks did not hurt so much, but that had done little, and she had cried herself to sleep many nights after a particularly bad encounter with Saera.
She wished she could say Saera had changed, but looking at her now, with that damnable smirk still on her lips and the condescension in her eyes as she sipped from her cup. And that wasn’t tea was it? It was wine. Seven’s sake, she hoped Saera wasn’t getting drunk. Saera was even worse when she was drunk.
“You’ve been glaring at me for quite some time Daella. Do you need anything?” she asked with false innocence, a lilt in her voice.
“Yes… I just wanted to tell you how much I pity you. You are truly pathetic Saera,” she said, with as much scathing as she could put into her voice. Ten years later, and she could finally give as good as she got. It felt as liberating and enjoyable today as it had at dinner last night.
Saera seemed to be torn between a laugh and a scoff. “I’m the pathetic one?” she asked.
Before either of them could continue, their mother’s voice rang through the room.
“Enough. The morn has barely begun. I will not have two of my daughters squabbling like rabble. Cease this meaningless bickering at once. You are princesses of the realm, ladies of great houses. Act like it.”
Chastised, Daella relented. “Yes mother.”
Saera dramatically obeyed. “As you command Your Grace,” she said, gesturing into a mock bow with her hand.
Their mother stared at her, disappointment writ all over her face, But Daella could see traces of regret as she sank back into her chair.
She had always adored her mother. In her mind, she had been the perfect lady, the perfect queen. Before Alyssa or Maegelle, her mother had protected her and nurtured her. She had always comforted her and sought the best for her. Daella loved her dearly. It felt wrong to see her so tired and defeated.
Her mother had aged. Gracefully some might say, but Daella knew of the aches in her bones that she hid, the worries that laid heavy on her heart. One of her daughters was not here in the Red Keep, and the reasons for that absence gave rise to only more worry.
Whatever the mistakes she had made, however Daella wished she had done some things differently, her mother loved each and every one of her children dearly. In a better world, maybe Daella could have said the same. There was already no love lost between her and Vaegon and Saera. As for Viserra…
Her absence weighed heavily on her mother, but Daella wasn’t sure she could say the same. Viserra had been eleven when she had left King’s Landing, and Daella would admit to herself that she had not been close to her. She had reminded her too much of Saera, despite never having actually done anything to her to justify that. They barely had any relationship worth speaking of.
Yet… Viserra was still her sister. She had never done anything wrong to her, for all that her demeanor had reminded her of Saera. She had been surprised to get a letter from Driftmark in her hand, over a year ago, asking after her. Daella had replied promptly after recovering from her surprise. Their correspondence had been limited, but in time, they might have built a semblance of a relationship.
Yet even in the best of worlds, they were never going to be close. That ship had sailed. House Arryn and House Velaryon were always going to be at odds due to the latter’s alliance with House Grafton who controlled the Vale’s largest and most important port and along with their ally, House Celtigar, dominated trade in the Bay of Crabs.
The Graftons had always chafed under the rule of House Arryn. Grasping and ambitious, they had become bold, pushing their interests in the Vale to an unacceptable extent. Many houses had become indebted to them and susceptible to their influence. House Grafton’s neighbors such as House Royce had consulted the Eyrie in concern that the rising power of Gulltown could endanger their fiefs should they press their claims on disputed lands. Some had even wondered if Gulltown was amassing enough power and wealth to challenge even the Eyrie should they command them to relent.
Daella had written a letter on behalf of her house to her father asking for his consideration of the matter. She had hoped for something to be done, but she had never expected what had followed. When she had first learned of her father’s decrees, first of the governance of the Stepstones and later of the punishment of House Velaryon for their actions in Tyrosh, Daella had been conflicted.
Daella Targaryen, sister of Viserra Targaryen, had been angry on behalf of her sister. Her and her husband’s rightful reward had been taken from them, their sons’ inheritance stolen by their own grandfather. Even when they later justified her father’s actions against them, Daella had not forgotten that it was her father’s decree who had started the whole feud to begin with.
But much like Viserra was, Daella was loyal to her husband and house. Daella Targaryen might have sided with her sister, but Daella Arryn could not, would not. The Lady of the Eyrie knew, that for all that her sister and her house were being crushed underfoot, it was to her husband’s benefit. Her daughter’s benefit. With House Grafton reeling from the attack on their ally and their trade, her lord goodfather had eagerly reasserted his dominance over Gulltown. Because of what Viserra had done, of how their father had reacted, Aemma might rule over a Vale that answered to her and not Gulltown.
She hated to admit it, but Daella knew Maidenpool would be a more than worthy ally to deal with both Celtigar and Grafton. A large and wealthy port town that desired more share of the trade in the bay. Making common cause with them could only be beneficial for House Arryn. If only dealing with Maidenpool didn’t mean dealing with Saera.
She looked up at her. She was still sipping her wine and getting more drunk. Daella shuddered to even think of it. An alliance between Maidenpool and the Eyrie? It was laughable.
“Saera, I was asked to tell you that your father wants to meet with you and your husband in private one of these days,” her mother said, not even looking up at her daughter.
Saera scoffed. “I’m surprised he wants to even see my face after last night.”
Daella could not resist retorting. “Maybe you shouldn’t have questioned his decisions in front of the entire family. He’s our father and king Saera. Have the years addled your mind?”
She glared back at her. “Can’t be any more addled than yours can it? How can you even manage the Eyrie? How many people need to check your work for you? Five? Ten?”
“Saera!” their mother shouted.
Everyone at the table was glaring at Saera. But Daella waved them off.
“It’s fine. Saera’s taunts are but a weak attempt to distract others from her own shortcomings. They’re meaningless,” she said.
That did not stop her from getting to her feet however. “Daella? Where are you going? You haven’t even finished your food yet!” her mother pleaded, and Daella almost relented.
“I’m sorry mother. Forgive me. I have no more appetite. It was a pleasure mother, and I hope we do this again sometime soon, perhaps with more pleasant company.”
She ignored her mother and sisters’ pleas as she walked away from the room. Saera looked almost guilty as she walked out, but Daella didn’t believe that for one moment.
As she struggled to make her way to her quarters, the walls of the Red Keep looked as menacing as they had when she was young. Red and angry and judging her for weakness. So unlike the welcoming and wondrous white walls of the Eyrie. Was this what Maegor the Cruel had intended? Because if so, he had succeeded.
Daella remembered an old chant she had made for herself once. ‘Saera always lies’. She had spent years telling that to herself, trying to convince herself that her words were just lies, poison meant to hurt. She had thought she was stronger than this, but even now Saera could get under her skin so easily because deep down Daella knew that at least part of what she said was true.
The truth was, Daella had not improved as much as she had pretended. Deep down she felt like she was still that scared little girl who had struggled to read and understand anything. For all of her efforts to improve her reading and writing, many of the servants at the Eyrie struggled to read her letters and commands at times. Most of the accounts she handled were checked by sometimes as many as five people because the fact of the matter was that Daella was not clever.
She wasn’t a dimwit or dumb as Vaegon and Saera had insisted, but she was never that smart. Even with the improvement in her reading and her memory, it took longer and more effort for her to understand and do things that anyone else could do in half the time. She could certainly never hope of being as successful as Vaegon, an archmaester, or Saera, who had increased the incomes of her house tenfold.
Daella had made it as far as she had purely by hard work and sheer determination. Forcing herself to focus and study and work as hard as she could just to keep up. And she just felt so frustrated and tired. Why did the Seven reward Vaegon and Saera, cruel and spiteful, with such intellect and cleverness? Why had she, who had worked so hard to even be allowed a small part in managing her own household, her traditional right and role as its lady, been left to languish?
She did not know. And that injustice made her angry. Throwing open the door to her quarters, Daella marched to her desk and pulled out a letter. It was to some random lord in the Vale, but the contents did not matter, not for what she intended. Placing the letter on the desk, Daella took a blank piece of parchment, dipped her quill in the ink, and began to write, at least she tried to.
Copying the letter was a simple task anyone who knew their letters could do as easily as breathing. It should have been easy. It should have been simple. It was not. Not for her.
As she read the letter and tried to write her copy, the words moved. They floated off the page, drifted side to side like they were dancing. The individual letters pulled apart and then slammed into each other. Her vision started to blur as her eyes struggled to focus, protesting her reading. This always happened.
She shook her head and closed her eyes briefly before opening them and forcing herself to focus. It had been an agonizing few minutes and she had barely written a sentence. Her head was starting to hurt. Her eyes began to water from the strain of her focus and frustration. As she struggled to read and copy more sentences, her headache grew worse, and the chaotic dance the letters and words indulged in had grown more frantic as each sought to do worse than its neighbor.
Finally, Daella couldn’t take it anymore. In a fit of rage, she slammed her fist down on the desk and tore the letter and her unfinished copy into pieces. The ink bottle tipped over during the commotion and spilled all over the desk and her dress, dripping onto the floor. Daella couldn’t bring herself to care.
When she was young, the septa and the Maester had told her parents that she was not clever. It had taken her years to learn how to read, and it had been haltingly, and without true comprehension. No one had ever believed her when she had told them how the letters and words danced and floated off the page. They had thought that only to be her overly imaginative excuse for her own stupidity.
Unable to even read and cruelly mocked by the siblings closest in age to her, what little had existed of Daella’s confidence and courage had crumbled. She had become frightened of the slightest thing, unwilling to even try or dare to do anything about it.
The whispers of the court that had followed her around had not helped. Alyssa had been the strong and ribald eldest princess, Maegelle the pious second, Saera the wild and mischievous prankster, Viserra the sly and beautiful, and Gael, the Winter Child. But Daella? When they thought she wasn’t listening, for the Good Queen was fiercely protective of her daughter, the courtiers whispered to each other and murmured behind her back that she was the dumb princess, the dimwit. A pretty face with nothing of value in her head. Scared of bees and cats and her own shadow. Sensitive and delicate, unable to handle any japes or jests. Prone to crying if you spoke nary a word in a loud voice. Pious but couldn’t even remember a prayer to save her life.
Daella had grown to hate the court and those judgmental stares. But what she had grown to hate most of all had been the glances of pity. Those who had not mocked her wits or her bravery, but had instead found her pitiful and pathetic. It grew worse when Daella had started seeing those same looks of pity on her own family members.
To her mother, Alyssa, and Maegelle, she had only been something to protect. Her father, Aemon, and Baelon, had always spoken to her tenderly and lovingly, but they had been distant and far away from her. Barely making time for her.
Her parents and older siblings had loved her, but they had coddled her. They hadn’t really believed in her. To them, she had been a precious doll to protect, to coddle and shelter and give a good life to. They hadn’t even been the most successful at that given how her father and brothers had failed to protect her from Saera, indulged her until she disgraced herself.
She knew she was being unfair. Daella hadn’t helped matters herself. How could her family believe in her when she hadn’t even believed in herself? She had failed at almost everything she had tried to do, and gave no impression that she wasn’t just a doll.
She just wished that things had been different. That she hadn’t been born like this, struggling to even read. She wished her mother had told her she believed she could be just like her, a strong and confident queen and lady. Instead, it felt like her mother and everyone else had slowly given up on her. And so in the end, Daella had given up on herself too.
“Daella,” she heard a voice, a voice that had become her new guiding star. She turned to the door and there he was, the Darling of the Vale. He had that nickname because Daella had named him such at a feast in the Vale and the lords and ladies had all agreed.
Her darling Jasper was as pious as he was handsome, as dashing as he was chivalrous, as kind as he was strong. His eyes were a resplendent blue. She had spent hours lost in those eyes before.
“What have you done to yourself?” he said exasperatedly as he walked over to her and started cleaning the ink off her with a napkin. The desk was ignored.
“I’m sorry.” Daella trembled. She hated disappointing Jasper.
“No, don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s wrong. What happened? You look troubled.”
“It’s nothing, it’s just… Saera.” Daella shook her head.
Jasper understood what she meant immediately. “What did she do?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She tried to brush it away.
“It matters to me, Daella.” His voice was kind but firm, the hints of a lordly command.
“She asked… she asked me how many people need to check my accounts in the Eyrie. In that usual mocking of hers. I know it shouldn’t mean anything but I just can’t help but – “
Jasper wrapped her in his arms before she could continue. “Daella, you are a wonderful mother and a capable lady. Even if you have difficulties and struggles, you are not lesser for them but greater. You have striven to make yourself more than what you were given.”
“I just wish I could be like everyone else,” she choked out.
“I know.”
She melted into the embrace. Jasper had never needed to say much to console her. His presence was more than enough.
“I’ve made your doublet dirty,” Daella said, wiping away tears from her eyes.
“There are others,” he did not speak more, but his eyes asked another question.
Daella nodded meaningfully. She was better now. Jasper made her better.
They had first met when she was one and ten, and he a boy of two and ten. Her sister Alyssa had just wed their brother Baelon, and Daella had been left alone as Alyssa spent much time with her new husband. Despondent and lonely, she had wandered the keep aimlessly, and that was when she had met him.
Long before he had been the Darling of the Vale, Jasper had been a sweet and charming boy, with a shyness that rivaled their daughter Aemma’s. Unlike everyone else at court, Jasper had been raised with impeccable manners. Even when young, he had sought to embody the tenets of his house words. As High as Honor.
Like a dashing knight, he had spoken to her fondly and had not mocked her for her weaknesses. Later Daella learned that he had humiliated some squires who had made fun of her in the yard. Even at the age of 12, Jasper had had the makings of the greatest of knights.
They spent weeks together after that, and for the first time in her life, Daella had known what it felt like to have a friend. Someone to confide in that was not her sisters. Everyone else had always scared her, but Jasper was someone she felt safe with.
She had told him her hopes and her fears, her dreams and desires. And he in turn had told her of his own. His unhappiness with seeing his father so rarely, for the Lord Rodrik had at the time been the Master of Laws, and his worries over his relationship with his brother Eldric, who even then, had already been jealous and distant.
All too soon, Jasper, who had come only for her sister’s wedding to begin with and had long since overstayed, was to go back to the Vale. He had promised to write her and that was where it had started.
Daella had felt horribly embarrassed having to have a servant read to her friend’s words, and dictating to the servant her reply. Somehow her mother helping her made it even worse. This was her friend, her private letters. Daella hadn’t wanted anyone else to know what was only between them.
She had forced herself to pick up the books she had hated so much and tried to read them as much as she could, try to learn her letters and sums again. She had practiced and practiced writing letters until her hand felt like dropping off.
All the while, Jasper continued to encourage her in his letters. Daella felt herself growing closer and closer to him. Their letters became more affectionate, more tender, though they never crossed the line of propriety. Both were all too aware their correspondence was being read by simple virtue that Daella still had yet to master her letters.
When she reached her age of majority at six and ten, the topic of marriage had arisen again, and when her mother had asked her who she wanted to wed, only Jasper had come to mind. Everyone else were strangers she did not know. Jasper was her friend. Her mother had only smiled knowingly.
Years later, she had learned from her goodfather Rodrik Arryn, that her marriage had been discussed at the Small Council. Her kingly father had considered sending her on a tour of Westeros in search of a prospective husband. Her mother had shaken her head and said that there was no need. Lord Rodrik’s son would more than suffice.
With her consent, the betrothal was finalized and the date set for her wedding. In his last letter to her before then, Jasper had confessed himself happy to wed a dear friend like her, and said he was eager to see her again.
When they met again for the first time in five years, Daella had felt her heart flutter. She had barely grown in stature, though her mother had assured her she had become womanly and mature, but Jasper had grown tall indeed. Tall enough that Daella felt dwarfed in his shadow. For a moment she had felt frightened, but then he had spoken to her in that same tender voice, huskier and deeper, but just as kind, and Daella knew that her friend was still the same. He had wrapped her in his arms, and she had felt as safe and comfortable as she had when they first met.
Leaving her family had been hard. Daella had cried to leave her mother and Alyssa behind, but when she arrived at the Eyrie she wept no more. The Vale became enamored with their Princess, and Daella had seen too many wondrous new sights and done too many extraordinary new things to weep.
In their time at the Eyrie, Jasper had coaxed her out of her shell. Little by little she became braver, a little more each day. She mastered her sums and letters eventually with great difficulty, and Jasper had cheered her with every step.
Soon Daella found herself with more friends, and more kind souls. Ladies that were not like the ilk of Saera or others at court, but genuine and pious like her. The court of the Eyrie dared not whisper of their lady as the court of the Red Keep had. For the Darling of the Vale had declared that any man that spoke ill of his wife would face him in the arena. She was entrusted with duties of the household, if with supervision. She was loved and respected instead of pitied and ridiculed.
King’s Landing had been where she was born and raised, but the Vale became her home. Home is where the heart is, and her heart had begun to long for the Vale and long for its heir years before she had even realized it.
“I broke fast with your father, and mine,” Jasper said, as he helped her to wash in the bath while a servant cleaned up the spilt ink.
Daella nodded. She had known of this. “What did you speak of?”
“A number of things. Most relevant to us is that we will have more duties when we return to the Vale.”
“And why is that?” she asked, curious.
“My father will not be returning with us.” He looked up at Daella and their eyes met. “Your father has offered him his old post as Master of Laws again. He accepted.”
Daella was confused. “What of my brother? Surely my father would not remove Aemon from the council?”
Jasper shook his head. “He has not. Aemon is to be Master of Coin from now on instead. Lord Tyrell has resigned from the council, and will be returning to Highgarden within the moon.”
“I did not know of that.” Daella was stunned.
“No one else does. It has yet to be announced. My father and I were told in confidence, so as to offer my father the position on the council. Take care to not spread it around, we do not want gossip.”
Daella nodded, still in shock. For as long as she remembered, Lord Martyn Tyrell and his wife Lady Florence Fossoway had been a constant presence at court. Lord Martyn and Lady Florence had served jointly and ably as the Master of Coin for well over thirty years. They were some of the longest serving members of her father’s council, why now were they resigning? Even when Lord Martyn’s elder brother had passed and he had inherited Highgarden, he had not resigned his post on the council, merely taking a few months of leave each year to resolve any matters in Highgarden. His wife remained in King’s Landing throughout it all, diligent in her duties as the true Master of Coin.
She expressed as much to Jasper. He shook his head.
“I suspect the Reach may no longer be stable enough for them to remain here. For decades Lord and Lady Tyrell could remain secure in their position knowing that they had the King’s favor but now… Now the Redwynes have been restored to the admiralty. Robert Redwyne is the Master of Ships like his father once was. Ser Otto Hightower is the Governor of the Stepstones. And rumors are abounding, that the King has agreed to sponsor a company of the Hightowers, Redwynes, and Lannisters to trade in the Summer Sea.
“None of this bodes well for House Tyrell. House Hightower and House Redwyne have always been among those who have chafed under their rule and tended to call upon the Iron Throne to arbitrate disputes rather than Highgarden. Now those same houses have the ear of the King and control over the most important trade routes in the world.”
“But why resign?” Daella asked. “Surely if your bannerman has a post on the Council as well, you should not leave the council entirely?”
“I suspect that their years of absence may have done more ill than good for the Tyrells at this point. Their authority in the Reach may soon be nonexistent regardless of their supposed closeness with the Crown if they do not return. Their previous power was backed directly by the King’s favor and now that seems to have gone to the Hightowers and Redwynes instead.”
Daella was just aghast. Lord Martyn and Lady Florence had served her father loyally for decades, Lady Florence was supposed to be a close friend of her mother’s! Why would they do this to them?
“It is the way of the game my dear,” Jasper said, reading the expression on her face. “Your father’s interests have changed, and the houses directly aligned with him have altered as a result.”
“I leave such matters of governance and alliance to you and your father,” Daella shook her head. For all of their vaunted honor, both her husband and goodfather were capable players of the great game of houses and politics. Daella was a novice at best compared to them. What little she knew had come from their teachings.
“It’s not all so complicated and difficult love,” Jasper said. “Just think about this instead. Now that I am to be Lord of the Eyrie in my father’s place and rule on his behalf, we will finally be able to send Eldric and his family away. Our Aemma will not have to contend with their nonsense any longer.”
Despite herself, Daella smiled. “What are you thinking?”
Jasper smirked back. “The Knight of the Bloody Gate has confided in me that he desires to retire soon. He is old and has served long and ably. It’s a prestigious and important position, enough so that Eldric cannot refuse without giving offense, but not so dangerous as to be a threat to us. I will of course impress on him that he should not be away from his family, so of course his wife and son must follow him.”
Daella was quite impressed with her husband’s cunning. It was moments like this that reminded her of his fierce love for her and for their daughter. There had been a time that Daella had doubted it, and she still regretted it.
When she had laid bedridden after giving birth to Aemma, the Maester had told them that another child would most likely kill her. As it was, she had almost died. The Maester said she might very well have in olden times, before recent advances in cleanliness and tools such as the forceps, all of them pioneered by Driftmark.
She had sobbed to Jasper, despondent. She had failed she had said. She knew how much Jasper had wished for a son, he had told her of his dreams for a boy he would raise into a paragon of chivalry like himself, raise to lead the Vale with honor and justice. She had wanted so dearly to give him that son, and she had felt so much guilt that Jasper would never have him.
She was a princess of House Targaryen, and she had bled and almost died to give her husband a child. No matter if Daella herself had consented, Jasper could never have set her aside. Her parents would have been enraged and the Vale would have been endangered, and Jasper would never do that.
In despair, she had wondered to herself if maybe it would have been better if she had died. Jasper had heard her. And he had been enraged. It was the first time he had ever been wroth with her. He had told her to never think so lowly of herself again, that she was his wife, his love, and their daughter was his heir, and that would be the end of it.
It had taken time for Jasper to truly forgive her for that, for doubting him, and for doubting herself. Their daughter had brought them back together fully. She was so clever and charming, so kind, so perfect.
Daella and her husband were both determined to fight for their daughter’s right to succeed him. Her life’s work now was to ensure that Aemma had anything and everything she needed to succeed as the Lady of the Eyrie, and rule unquestioned, and unchallenged.
She’d let nothing get in her way. By the laws of gods and men, Aemma was her father’s heir. Honor demanded no less, and Daella was an Arryn now. As High as Honor.
________________________________________________
Author’s Note: A brief Daella interlude just to get a look into the mind of someone whose life has been drastically changed as a result of butterflies and Corlys’s inventions. She’s also yet another Targaryen and one who was done rather dirty in canon. I wanted to really explore her character more and use her as the means by which the audience can ascertain the opinions of House Arryn on our beloved Velaryons.
I hope you guys enjoyed it, in a way, this chapter was homage to the long abandoned original plan which was to have Daella marry Corlys, instead of Viserra. Corlys would have filled Jasper’s role in her character development, to an even more overt extent since as an SI, he knows exactly what her condition is and how to help her with it. (It’s dyslexia). Ultimately that plan was scrapped but I still wanted to give Daella a better life in High Tide irregardless.
![カネコツ[kanesys] from fanbox](https://patrefans.com/kistorage/20926.jpg)
