It is perhaps inevitable that it is Cersei that concerns now, that her Uncle and Jeyne the Maid are good and dead.
Because it was Cersei's directions that had caused Melara of Before to fall into the well. It was Cersei's name that she had pleaded for in the dark as she had left her for dead… It was Cersei who had pushed her fingertips into Melara's gushing throat and had wailed for her.
She shudders.
Cersei's emerald eyes are focused solely on her. Her expression is a mixture of determination and something that is not quite anger. Cersei reaches for her-
Joanna Lannister stands between them. Her back is not broad. But it covers her line of sight in a field of gold and roaring lions. Their eyes are made of fine glass beads, and the red winks in the light of the winter sun. Melara breathes. Cersei isn't able to see her either, and it gives Melara more relief than someone with the memories of an adult should when it comes to a child.
A child capable of murder at ten, but a child nonetheless. She is not the woman in the TARDIS scarf, Melara thinks. Sort of hopes.
If she is her, not remembering her own fucking name was a fucking shity way to just exist. She was Melara Hetherspoon, in truth, living her second life after some fuckery with either the gods or magic had unleashed partial but vivid memories of her life on Earth, all with some added fuckery with time loops, maybe Grounds Hog Day. Melara Hetherspoon was alive for a third… Fourth? Time. And she was going to keep herself alive goddamn it.
And part of that is either getting the fuck away or completely placating Cersei.
Logically, she knows she's in the shit with Cersei for ignoring her, and for getting so much attention - Melara of Before had learned that early, when she had out sang Cersei in their practice of the Mother's Hymn, and Cersei had caused a vase to fall atop of her during dancing practice. But she also knows that Cersei's vain little fucking brain will just be bursting with glee at the fact that she was her friend- that she was in her family's keeping. The Lannister's Ward, the protected of a Lannister Knight- the beloved friend of a Lannister maiden who is set to be the queen of the realm. A nice song if she twisted it enough for Cersei's liking…
Melara was perhaps the most crucial accessory for Cersei to be the center of attention before the Realm at this moment, and that was why Melara had thrown her a bone earlier. Trying to mitigate the fucking negative emotions of Cersei to some extent, something the Melara of Before had done for much of their 'friendship'.
"Cersei," Joanna's voice is sharp, "Melara is to acquaint herself with her new rooms, and you will follow me to handle our guests away from the excitation grounds and to the evening meal. No going off to the Grounds after this. It sets an ill presentation. We are to be of a somber mind until the King arrives. Understand?"
"But Mother-"
"No buts, child. Your friend has undergone something horrific, and she is in the need of some rest. You may speak to her tomorrow."
Melara wants to sleep. And she doesn't want to speak to Cersei, today, or tomorrow.
She is so fucking tired.
"Ser Tygett," she says, exhausted, turning to look at her sworn-shield, ain't that a fucking trip to think about, "If you will escort me to my former rooms before I see to my new ones?"
She thinks of her father's sketchbook, still hidden in the hearth. She wants it back. Nothing else is really of import. All of her things, she has no doubt, had been sent to her new rooms with the efficient hand of Casterly Rock's servants. Now that she has access to her monthly stipend, she will probably replace everything that had been given to her at the Rock.
"Glady, my Lady," he says, soft and gentle.
"Mother?" Jaime Lannister.
Please. Please don't- I swear to the gods old and the new sister-fucker-
"Jaime?"
"May I accompany Lady Melara?"
Melara resists the urge to scream.
Lady Joanna I beg for the sake of all that is holy in Earth and in Earthos, please-
"Of course, you may, Jaime. Be her support. Her wounds will no doubt trouble her as she walks. Tygett, be at their backs and prevent any from talking to them. Many will try to speak to her."
And a swing and a miss, Melara thinks. She does not hold back her sigh. She reluctantly winds her arm when Jaime offers it to her. She ignores the flutter in her chest. Fucking pre-pubescent hormones.
She sighs again.
Because she knows the burning sensation on her back is Cersei's gaze on her back as she leaves the courtyard.
Fucking fuck.