The sun shone obnoxiously bright the particular morning this tale begins. This was considered a boon by all and sundry as it was to be a wedding day and the entire week previous had been marred by rain. Lord Tyrell was up bright and early, along with the entirety of his household, to make sure that this day was nothing short of perfection. His little girl deserved nothing less, and he would make sure she got it.

The smell of slowly roasting meat wafted through the air, mixed with fresh flowers picked by the maids, and everywhere he turned there was another bouquet. The dazzle of bright colours was enough to make his head spin, but that was alright. He smiled at his wife as she hurried towards him.

"Is Eilonwy up yet?" She asked without so much as a good morning. "Her bath is ready and the maids are waiting to dress her. Where is she?"

"Probably still sleeping" he replied with a quick shrug. "I'll go wake her."

As he made his way through the castle towards the bride's bedroom, he had to duck out of the way of innumerable people, most of them carrying things he had problems to identify. There was an obscene amount of silverware and cutlery, that much he could say. Also fabrics of various shades of blue, flowers, random items, and he was reasonably sure he had seen a stable boy with a living piglet in the great hall. That creature had better be gone by the ceremony. This alliance wasn't all he had wanted for his daughter, but the Lannisters were a decent enough family… if marred by nasty rumours. But his sweet daughter, as pure as the northern snows, would see to that.

Lord Tyrell knocked on the door.

"Eilonwy?" He called. "It's time to get up, sweetheart. The sun has been up for hours and your mother is in a state. Eilonwy?" But there was no reply. Odd, his girl was a light sleeper - she should have heard his voice, if nothing else. He tried again.

"Eilonwy?"

There was only silence. Lord Tyrell frowned, and instead tried the door handle. It had been a long time since he had to rouse his daughter, usually she was up early. Loras he could understand - that boy could sleep through a dragon's attack - but Eilonwy? Most unusual.

The door opened slowly, and the sight that met him was one that Lord Tyrell was never going to forget. It was going to haunt his nightmares every night for the rest of his life.

She lay on the floor, sprawled before her grand window like a fallen angel. Her red hair lay tousled around her sweet little head, her white nightgown flooding around her. An angel, indeed. An angel of death, with a still-quivering arrow buried in her chest.

Lord Tyrell stood frozen in the doorway, just staring at the angel on the stones. The angel that until the previous night had been his daughter. Somewhere far away, he found to his annoyance, someone was screaming.

He did not realise that it was him.

The groom's party arrived shortly after noon, running a bit late due to the groom's sister having thrown a fit over… what Jaime wasn't sure, he hadn't been listening. That had, in all honesty, been an increasing situation these past few months - Cersei throwing a fit, Jaime not listening. Usually it was his lack of attention that caused the fits. But how was it his fault that he was distracted? He was getting married. To a woman he loved, a woman he had fallen in love with when he thought himself incapable of loving anyone but his sister. An angel with red hair, an angel that was waiting for him now, his ruthless, manipulative little angel. His Eilonwy. He looked up at the castle just up ahead, admiring the blue banners and fine fabrics draping it. It seemed that Lord Tyrell had spared no expense for this feast, and what a feast it would be! He adjusted his seat, wanting to appear as fine a gentleman as he was able. Surely She would be waiting in the courtyard when he arrived. Or perhaps not, perhaps she would keep him waiting as was her wont. He could never tell with her - which was both exciting and refreshing. He always knew what to expect with Cersei, but with Eilonwy he was always wondering, waiting. Perhaps she had locked herself in her chambers again, and would be screaming at him through the locked door? Would she greet him, he mused, with a kiss or throw something at his head? Her last letter had not hinted at her being displeased about anything, but… this was Eilonwy. Sometimes he thought she did it just to keep him guessing.

As the Lannisters neared the castle, Jaime was confused at it's silence. Should there not be music? Or at least people moving around, preparing the feast of the ages? There was nothing. No men hurrying back and forth with casks of wine, no maidens gossiping, no neighing and braying horses. Only this pregnant, heavy silence, mixed with the smell of burning meat. Lord Lannister frowned.

"What is going on?" He demanded in his usual brusque manner. "What does Tyrell think he is doing? This is an insult!"

"Please, father" Jaime tried to placate him, "surely all will be explained when we arrive. Perhaps there has been some sort of misunderstanding." Tywin scowled and for a moment Jaime wondered if he would strike him. But with great effort, the Lord of House Lannister restrained his temper and instead forced his horse to move faster across the courtyard.

They stepped down from their horses just in front of the grand entrance, and Jaime frowned up at the ornate door. It should be open, offering entrance to any and all wishing to share in the joy of this house. So why was it closed, and where were the courtiers? Cersei stepped down from her chariot, looking around with barely concealed scorn. Thankfully, she held her tongue.

Just then, the door opened and a very old, feeble man came out, leaning heavily on a footman. IT took a moment, but then Jaime to his shock recognized his future father-in-law. Tyrell looked like he had aged fifty years in six months, and he was as pale as a ghost as he looked at Jaime with vacant eyes.

"Lord Lannister, Jaime, Cersei. Welcome" he finally said in a tone that bore no resemblance to the booming voice he remembered from the midwinter feast this winter past.

"Tyrell" father's voice was little more than a snarl. "What is the meaning of this?" Tyrell startled, as if the words had surprised him. He blinked several times, before managing to speak.

"Come inside" the voice was barely audible. "I… I will take you to see… her."

An uneasy feeling spread throughout Jaime's body, settling deep in his bones. Something was wrong, horrifyingly wrong and he wanted to turn around, get back on his horse and leave this house. Flee it, and never come back. But he followed his host, slow and reluctant. Whatever it was, he would know soon enough.

Eilonwy was dressed in her wedding finery, her hair done with the utmost of care. To Jaime, she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes on, even lovelier than Cersei at the height of her passion. Pearls and blue ribbons had been woven into her vibrant red hair, the dress was of a shade of blue that made her skin seem almost translucent. Her lips were red with paint, soft and lush as if begging for his kisses, and in her slender hands she clasped a single red rose. She would have been the model of the perfect bride, if not for the fact that she lay on a table covered in a white cloth, a single candle burning beside her head. Still in a way that he could never have imagined his Eilonwy to be.

"How" he whispered, and his voice was the same lost, wretched tone as Lord Tyrell's.

"She was found in her chambers" the servant, whose name Jaime did not know, replied silently. "An arrow buried in her chest."

"She was murdered" Tywin noted, his voice cold with fury.

"Yes" The servant confirmed.

Jaime moved forward in a daze, not taking his eyes from her face. This was his wife lying before him. The woman that was to have been his, the mother of his unborn children. He reached out and clasped her little hand, the one that wore the ring he had given her at yule, and pressed it to his lips. It was cold and still, laying limp in his own. A scorching hot tear slipped down Jaime's cheek as he pressed her hand to his face in a mockery of the caress that she had bestowed on him as they bid each other goodbye. Midsummer, she had whispered as she stroked his cheek. I will be waiting.

Jaime slowly sank to his knees as the first anguished sob fled his lips, still pressing her lifeless hand to his cheek. He kissed her palm, over and over again in desperation, as he wept.

"Eilonwy" he keened. "Eilonwy, Eilonwy, Eilonwy."

It had taken the servants nigh on two hours to pry Jaime loose, Cersei thought that night as she sat down on his bedside. He lay now, in a bed in one of the guest rooms, still and pale as if he was dead, too. Like her. His crimson harlot. Hatred burned bright and red in her chest as she recalled the other woman, then she remembered that there would be no more sly smiles or flirty glances from that quarter. Eilonwy Tyrell was dead. Jaime would forget her in time.

She looked at her brother where he lay, still in a stupor over the shock. His hand clutched a bloody arrow-tip with a desperation that made Cersei want to kick something. It was just a piece of metal! The only thing he had said when she demanded he throw it away had been

"Her heart. It touched her heart."

Cersei scowled. That arrow tip had to go.

Many years later, Brienne of Tarth found a small piece of metal hidden in Jaime's pack. She had been looking for a scroll he said was in there, but when she came across the small item she forgot the scroll and pulled it out to have a closer look. It was an arrow's head, worn thin and brittle with age, the tip stained a rusty red that made her think of old blood. It had at some point in time been pierced and hung on a leather strap, fashioning a makeshift necklace.

She heard movement behind her and turned around, the arrowhead still in her hand.

Jaime stood behind her, looking at the item in her hand with an odd look on his face. She was almost tempted to call it sorrow.

"What is this?" She asked when he showed no sign of giving her any information.

"A reminder" he replied in a low voice.

"Of what?" She could not help but press on.

"Of… her." He took it from Brienne carefully, as if afraid it would shatter.

"Her?" She didn't want to know about this unnamed rival, but could not keep herself from prying.

"She...if she had lived, perhaps I would have been a good man." Jaime murmured as he hung the arrow's head around his neck, tucking it into his shirt so that it would lie just over his heart.

"Who was she?" Brienne whispered in a tone that was begging him not to answer. Jaime did not seem to have heard her.

"She made me want to be a good man." He said distantly.

"Who was she?" Brienne asked again. Jaime held his hand over where the arrow-tip rested against his skin.

"Her name was Eilonwy."