mela's jaw has been clenched since the first dose of the elixir she and the lady greyjoy had mixed slipped past the throats of the sick. healing had never been what she had gravitated to when it came to practical uses of her knowledge of botany. ironically, she preferred poisons  — things that would help the elderly, frail, and injured pass in peace, without pain. the weight of not knowing pressed heavily upon her now, pushing down on her shoulders as she lowers herself to perch in a nearby windowsill. how exhausting it was, to heal. how fruitless, when your efforts did not come to pass. within her skull, the backs of her eyes ache with unshed tears. was it sadness, that brought such emotion to her door? or was it frustration —  anger at her inability to control the nightmare that transpired before the eyes of the court? rolling the thought over in her mind, mela cannot decide. " i have no good news to offer, " she speaks only at the sound of footsteps, insistent and echoing off of the red keep's stone walls and out into the courtyard below, the open windows carrying in a breeze that she might have found comforting, under normal circumstances. " we must wait. "

it was not concern that brought her to the sick rooms ─ at least, that was what she would say if questioned of her intentions by her mother. daenys sought knowledge of the cause of the illness, as well as news of who had succumbed to it, and where better to garner such intelligence than at the very heart of the matter ? and if she stopped to glance through the open doors, pale brow furrowing at the sight of the writhing, sweating illness, her expression could easily be mistaken for disappointment at the tenacity of house celtigar's rivals. still, daenys had always been uneasy around the sick and the heavy scent of herbs, mixed with bodily fluids, had her seeking out fresh air soon enough, stumbling upon a familiar face that slipped through the cracks in her wall. ❝ i will take bad news as well, if you seek to unburden yourself. ❞ quietly, her feet lead her to occupy the space beside mela, booted foot bumping against the other in silent greeting. ❝ the servants have been whispering that it is poison. ❞ and that half of the castle suspected house redwyne, who had been chief in supplying the libations for the celebrations ─ was that why mela was here, working to discover an cure ? the moment the thought crossed her mind, daenys frowned, disgusted with her own self. ❝ ... is there any truth to that ? ❞

The current state of chaos that had taken over the Red Keep had grown so dire they could not even serve eggs warm. Maelora cut into the rubbery whites, bit, chewed, swallowed. Every morning after the feast had been worse than the last, with no answers and no improvement. She did not expect all those who had taken ill to last long—the question was, which way would the dice roll once the illness had flown through the Keep? Cerion Lannister's ill turn boded ill for the Lannisters' claim; and were Lady Arryn to grow worse, the Vale entire would be near toppled. She chewed on the conundrum and her cold eggs, then looked over at Daenys.

"This state of disruption grows increasingly wearisome. I've never seen the Red Keep in such conditions. Who else do you know who has been affected? Last I heard, Daemian's betrothed, the Redwyne girl, had been laid ill as well. The Small Council is playing a dangerous game to allow all to roam the halls freely—if they are acting at all, with that fool Westerling at the helm." She had half a mind to move them all to the manse until the fevers passed... but were any of them merely late to take ill, they would have the best maesters here. "I hope you are staying well clear of the diseased parts of the castle."

after nearly three decades of breaking her fast with maelora celtigar, daenys had quickly learned what was the easiest to swallow whilst ruminating on the words, be it instructions or lectures, that left her mother's mouth ─ oat porridge, sweetened with a bit of honey and nothing else, was what currently sat before her, thickening up on her spoon as she stirred it absentmindedly. sometimes, not even experience could temper the unease that settled onto her shoulders whenever her mother was near and that made daenys feel almost guilty. what daughter would feel this way around her mother ? there was something wrong with her, surely, to prompt such dread and when her eyes lifted as her mother spoke, finding the ruling lady already watchful, the feeling grew larger. ❝ westerling's own daughter, last i heard ... my chambermaid was called away to help sober the fool up enough to attend to his bastard get. ❞ that alone seemed to imply that the lord hand might finally be moved to proper action, though daenys could not speak on the love he may or may not have for his illegitimate children. her spoon lifted, mouth closing on a bit of porridge and she made a face ─ cold already ─ before pushing the bowl from her. daenys was not certain of her mother's tone and desired, more than anything else, to inject some concern into her words, though she knew the warning was likely more practical than anything else. ❝ you needn't tell me that, mother. daemian, on the other hand ... he is friendly with vaiora and he can be a fool. i am sure he will find his way there, if he has not already. ❞ she supposed the illness may bring some good fortune, if it spared vaiora redwyne and endeared her brother to the idea of the marriage. ❝ what do you think of the baratheon claim ? i cannot say if lord baratheon will be suitably distressed by his wife's illness enough to drag his three daughters back to the stormlands. the man did marry ever - so - quickly after the death of his first wife, after all. ❞

a pale brow raises as the lady tyrell approaches with light steps ─ the disputed heir or so it would seem, with all the whispers that came from the straits to claw isle. an unpleasant taste sprouted on the tongue at the thought but daenys hoped that this would mean that the roses of highgarden would remain preoccupied with their internal familial squabble to properly campaign for the throne. ( she would not put anything past a rose, however, no matter how sweetly scented. ) ❝ as i have sailed through the bay and across the sunset sea, allow me to say that nothing compares to the sea ... the bay will disappoint you, i fear, if it is beauty that you seek, but it has it's charms. if you wish it, we may visit the docks in the morning ? before the markets open. ❞

the pale lilac of her gaze followed him across the hall, taking note of which lieges he spoke to and the ease in which he navigated the room ─ unconsciously, her lip curled into a look of faint disgust, if only to hide the begrudging admiration that shone in her eyes as his second round through the crowd brought him close enough that her unimpressed glare, purposefully exaggerated, drew his attention. ❝ it is not your joviality that insults but the sheer arrogance. ❞ was it disgust that curled at her mouth or amusement ? daenys shook her head, annoyed. ❝ i was hoping to find you humbled in my time away from the capital but i see no one has yet to do that ? ❞ she mused, beckoning a servant over for some grapes. ❝ yet another thing i must do, after my father is crowned king. ❞

flush - faced, gem - crested goblet in hand, and eyes having taken on a glassy look, priscella has never once looked more like her lord father than she does now. he's pleased as punch, fool that he is, downing more of the arbor's finest than is befitting someone of his station, and she... her throat tightens, jaw clenching from the force of trying to hold back her grief. wishing to drown it once and for all, she takes a hearty sip of her drink and swipes her tongue across the plump of her bottom lip before steeling her face into something lighter and more like herself. in a room full of vultures, she simply cannot afford to look weak — not here, not now.

alester westerling was a fool ─ it was the kindest word that daenys had for the man, who her father believed had robbed house celtigar of a spot on the small council. ( of course, her father believed that of every individual that sat on the small council, the object of his condemnation changing depending on the day and his mood. ) she had no animosity towards his ill - begotten offspring, however, and priscella waters was a far more welcoming sight than half of the strangers that had gathered in the capital. ❝ spare me and keep your words for one of the fools who would believe it. ❞ she murmured, knocking her goblet lightly against priscella's as she came to stand beside her. it was no secret, the ambitions of their respective fathers, but daenys was willing to put aside inherited rivalries for the evening. ❝ ... i am surprised to see house bolton amongst our guests. it makes me wonder how their liege lords in winterfell will take the news, should the red keep start flying flayed men from the ramparts. ❞

when ♱ the arrival to the red keep .

under instruction from her father ( which she had then delegated to the servants ), her conversation with the dock master had been abandoned in favor of hastening her steps when word of the dragonstone targaryens had reached her ears ─ at least now, her clothing would cease smelling like fish entrails as she shadowed the dock master, hoping to be amongst the first to welcome princess delfina to the capital. chancing a discreet sniff at her shoulder ( good, still fresh ), daenys came to walk beside the other woman, offering the princess a small nod of the head as her presence was noted. ❝ the city is made brighter by your presence, princess. ❞ words so false that even daenys cannot help but punctuate the sentence with a small huff of amusement, pushing aside the voice of her father that warns her to guard her heart against the charms of the dragons. ❝ though many may argue that you need neither invitation or permission to visit now. ❞ how easily she slips into the tongue of old valyria, both as a comfort and, perhaps, a way to boast of her own ties to the ancient empire. ( that is all that we will ever amount to, daenys. mummers, jumping and dancing for applause, unless we seize our moment. a small shake of the head, easily dismissed as one trying to chase away an insect, though the thought roots inside her. ) ❝ how many years has it been, since you last stepped foot in the shadow of the red keep, if you do not mind the question ? ❞

oh, how it seems to mock her ─ the three - headed dragon that snarls from high in the grand halls of the red keep, serving as a reminder of the old king and as a threat of what may continue into the future, if westeros did not make the right choice. ( her left eye twitches, the voice of her father overwhelmingly loud in her head as she glances over the crowd. where was daemian ? ) it was good that she carried the look of old valyria for the way her jaw clenches, something sour filling her mouth at the sight of how many powerful houses had made the long and arduous journey to the capital with their eye on the throne, would frighten a lesser man which is not, fortunately, what one might say to describe aiysha greyjoy. ❝ a crab or a man ? ❞ with such poor offerings in sight, daenys was considering just how many fingers she might lose in a dance with a crustacean. ❝ and i beg pardons ... daemian did nothing to deserve your thanks but look petulant on the docks. it was my fine bartering ❞ ( badgering ) ❝ that saw only the finest specimens selected and brought over fresh to the capital. though really, must they drown the poor thing in butter ? ❞ her nose wrinkles, annoyed. ❝ when will you visit claw isle so that we can host you properly ? ❞