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CRISIS OF MY FAITH. / CHAPTER ONE.
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Children have always been meant to suffer for their parents' sins or so Meliana realised when she found out her name was the last word her dying father ever spoke.
The letter informing her of Derron Cole's passing came early in the morning. Three years had passed since the last time she saw him-it was before his skin turned abnormally pale, his hair fell out and his teeth got decayed. Back then, he was the same man that read her fairytales to sleep and secretly passed her honey cakes under the table whenever they had a food she didn't like. In a sick, heart-rotting way that filled her eyes with tears of guilt, she was glad she wasn't around to see him in his last moments. She was free to remember him as he would want to be remembered.
As soon as she saw her half-brother's handwriting, she knew what the letter was about. Criston rarely wrote to her, making efforts to communicate with her only when it came to her namedays or updates on their father's health. He was, after all, much older and too busy serving as a footsoldier in border conflicts with Dorne to care about the bastard daughter of his neglectful father. Meliana did not mind the distance between them; if anything, she was content with hearing from him once in a while rather than never, just to make sure he was still alive.
Amongst the rather cold tone of his writing, he informed her that he would compete in the Heir's Tournament, after which he would like to see her so they could discuss the matter of their father's will. Meliana felt her palms get sweaty at the thought of a possible confrontation between the two-as a bastard-born, she was bound to be left nothing of true value. Then again, Derron Cole was known for his disregard for customs; after all, he was an adulterer who decided to let his illegitimate child into his house and raise it as his own.
Usually Meliana was not one to cry. Her father liked to joke that she didn't even cry when she was born; though that would be impossible to know, since no one that had witnessed her birth was alive to tell the tale of it. In any case, the girl knew better than to cry over spilled milk or dead relatives. Her tears would not bring her father back or reverse the time to relive her best memories of him. Her tears would only do her work more difficult than it had to be.
As a handmaid, part of her job was to be the carpet the princess could wipe her expensive shoes on. She needed to be delightful enough to keep the Realm's Delight happy, she needed to follow her around ready to obey her every wish. If Rhaenyra Targaryen wished for Meliana to jump, the girl could only smile and ask How high? Perhaps it was naive or extremely cynical, but Meliana believed it was a fair exchange for what she got from it. Living at the Red Keep amongst the most powerful people in the world was worth the minor pain fake smiles caused her. It had to be.
