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CHAPTER TWO. ━━━━━━━━━ Do not go gentle into that good night, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
DYLAN THOMAS, IN COUNTRY SLEEP ━━━━━━━━━
CLARYSSE IS BORN A SUMMER CHILD. With soft chestnut hair that shines a bright ember under the blazing Southern sun and luminous eyes blue as the sea, she is the very embodiment of warmth and prosperity.
She never had to live through winter and its harsh winds or frozen fingers. The icy sensation of cold hands grabbing at her neck comes only once in her life, in the form of a man.
Lady Clarysse is adored and cherished, showered with the soft affection her parents can only give to a girl — and she is their first, after three sons. She spends her early years raised in the comfort of Highgarden, far from court life and all its intrigues. Her father is the only one to ride all the way to King's Landing, always bringing her back a gift, an exquisite dress or beautiful jewelry. She does not notice what he brings back for her mother: whispered words and frightened looks.
Of course, she is not dense enough to miss Robert's Rebellion or any of its troubles even at the tender age of three but she is sheltered and too young to understand. After all, girls aren't groomed for such things. Clarysse is not supposed to inconveniece herself with battles and war strategies. No, she is taught to run a castle, birth a handfull of children and please a husband. She is taught to be the good litte lady. And perfect she is. She is as obedient as she is gracious, as pretty as she is clever. And if there's a pinch of her grandmother's cunning hidden behind bright blue eyes, well — no one has to know. In any case, it pales next to Margaery's sly ambition, though her sister is perfectly capable of concealing it.
The world outside of the Reach is rather foreign to her, the tumultuous landscape of Westeros entirely unknown but then she enters her seventeenth year and with it, come the whispers of an heir yet unmarried. However dainty and pretty Clarysse seems to all the world, she is no simpering fool. She certainly knows that her father wants her to become a princess and, after some time, queen. Their family has always been ambitious, reaching for the stars, and now an opportunity has been presented to them on a golden platter. After aiding the royal family during Robert's Rebellion years ago, the Tyrells are hoping for some kind of handsome reward. And what could be more handsome than crown prince Aegon himself?
Clarysse watches her somber reflection in the looking glass while her handmaid is fussing about the elaborate dress she has chosen to wear to supper. It is a fine gown of rich sapphire colour with long, flowing sleeves that almost reach the floors in a beauteous cascade. She has been restless all night, sleep stubbornly avoiding her, and has fallen prey to a horde of unwelcome thoughts she has been trying hard to suppress. Clarysse thinks of the rumours surfacing in the castle's walls every now and then, and the whispers between servants, thinks of her grandmother and her ambition, of her brothers without a single care in the world, of herself whose dreams are soon to crumble into dust. And of Rhaegar Targaryen, looking for a bride for his heir.
