Lady's bones were sent back home to the north. Where she would be buried, Myna did not know. Where does a girl's pet get buried? Down in the crypts with the dead kings and brave Lyanna Stark? Or in the forest, left to be mulch for the trees?
Myna held Sansa as she cried herself hoarse. She had not even been allowed a last farewell.
Her eyes found the moon gleaming outside their window and wondered if it was too late to travel back home. Surely, Lord Eddard would call off Sansa's engagement and reject his offer as the Hand. His daughters' hearts have been broken on this night, all because of a lying boy and a cruel queen. Their company hadn't even set foot in King's Landing before something went terribly wrong. How long until something worse happened?
Mildred Briarwood, Myna's mother, had always spoken of ill omens. She'd been a superstitious woman, always quick to pray to her Drowned God and ask for his protection at the slightest hint of danger. This moment felt like an omen. One that promised worse things to come. Myna tried to tell herself Lady was only a direwolf, that she was no friend of Mynas, but that was nearly enough to break her heart.
Lady had been involved in the crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. There was nothing more ill than the striking down of a creature who had done nothing wrong. Her father and brother had always said Lord Eddard is a noble man. A noble man would take them all home.
So Myna stayed up late into the night, till Sansa and Arya had fallen asleep on her chest, and she'd waited.
And waited some more, even as the sun began to shine.
But Lord Eddard did not come to take them home.
Nobody did.
King's Landing is not at all how Myna pictured it.
The first whiff of the city threatens to knock her off her horse. Unwashed bodies fill the shit-filled streets, each inhaling a constant reminder that human beings were nothing but animals. The irony in coming from a place like this and calling a Briarwood animalistic is not lost on her. But the truth of the matter is that most of these people are struggling to afford to feed themselves. The thought of washing their sweat-slicked skin off is a luxury many don't bother to contemplate.
Sunlight floods the city and leaves nothing to the imagination. As their company rides through the gate, every bit of broken stone and speck of dirt is on display. Myna has never seen people so thoroughly unhappy. Hungry eyes set in pained faces stare up at her from her horse. If not torn with hunger, exhaustion clings to slumped frames. Age has come upon many before their time; their faces and bodies are worn down by manual labor from under the unyielding rays of a harsh sun.
Her eyes can't stop flickering from person to person, wondering why her brother thought it would be a good idea to take this road instead of the one the Starks had. She watches him hop off his horse to shake hands with multiple vendors, an endless tide of merchants calling out to him. He greets each and every one of them like they are an old friend.
Here, swamped in a city of shit and internally rotting people, her brother looks alive. Devran tilts his head back and laughs, his shoulder shaking at some bawdy joke the baker does not move, trying too hard to breathe through her mouth to chance climbing off her horse. By the time he comes back to his stead, Devran's arms are laden with gifts. Her stomach rolls, the scent and the lighting digging into her temples like a well-honed dagger.
"Lemon cake?" Devran holds one out, just beneath her nose. Lemon and sugar taunts up, as sweet as poison.
Myna holds back the sudden influx of bile. "Maybe later."
He catches the audible gulp with pinched brows. "You look ill."
"It's too much. The light, the smells, the people. I feel like I am about to burst from my skin."
She'd give anything to be back on the Kingsroad, surrounded by trees and open air. Myna's hands tremble around the reins of her horse. Inside herself, she feels as if she's pacing, waiting for a way out.
This was the place her brother loved?
Did he fall off his horse one too many times?
Unexpectedly, Devran softens. "Let us get to the Red Keep, then. It is enough excitement for one day."
She lets him think what he may, eagerly following him up to the gates of the Red Keep. It's a blur from there, his words to the guards going in and out of her ears like the gurgles of a brook. A headache pulses at her temples by the time they arrive. It is by instinct alone that she takes note of the twists and turns through the castle, the faces of the servants dulling down to a blur in her mind's eye.
The smell wafts into the Red Keep like an ill-begotten gift from the city. The further they walk into the castle, the further from the smell they get. It's a blessing to Myna's poor abused nose, as is the sweet shade of the castle. As requested by Lord Stark, Devran and the rest of their company are to reside in the Tower of the Hand. The mini tour her brother gives is a whirl of Myrish rugs and wall hangings, none of which Myna stops to inspect for more than a passing moment.
Beneath the floor where the Starks are staying is their chambers. Devran introduces her to her room with a flourish.
"This is your chamber. My room is just down the hall, and opposite that is the privy. The rest of our company will be staying in the quarters below us. Supper will be on the Hand's floor within the hour."
Her chambers are roughly the same size as her room back home. Just beneath the great window of stained glass is a large bed, fluffed to perfection. A golden blanket lined in delicate Myrish lace lays on top of it. At the foot of her bed is her chest with its lid propped open, its contents left alone by her brother's instructions. Across from the chest is the fireplace, complete with a chair close enough to use for nightly reading. That would be perfect- if Myna read.
According to her brother, the nights of King's Landing were prone to having a chill. Myna walks around her room with a sense of wonder. She ran a hand along the bed, the feel of the fabric smooth like satin beneath her touch.
"This is new," Her brows furrowed.
"Most things are," Devran admitted with a tight smile.
Myna spun in place, her mouth dropping open. "You paid for new things for my room?"
"I believe I've made it clear I want you to enjoy your time here. And with what happened at the inn…I can see that I have made the right call. A desk shall be arriving for you by the end of the week as well, along with new writing tools." For a moment, Devran looked uncomfortable. "For your letters."
There was a sudden lump in her throat. Myna crossed her room to hug her brother, feeling like a child of summer within the safety of his grasp. Already she is mentally going over what she will write to Jon.
"Thank you, Devran. Thank you!"
"It will be different now. You will see." Her brother whispers into her hair. Devran gave her an awkward head pat, pulling away after a few moments. "I shall leave you to your new room. Don't be late for supper."
Myna watched him shuffle out of her room with a smile. Despite being the eldest, he was still unused to great acts of affection outside of a brothel. What that bodes for his future lady wife, Myna doesn't know.
She sets about unpacking her things, her grumbling stomach rushing her along. Each dress was heavier than the last and most were black in color. The few that were not the shade of ink, were the dark shade of the Nightberries of Briarwood or amber in color. Maybe her brother would allow her a few dresses in a different shade. It was King's Landing, after all. Maybe a buttery yellow or gentle sea green. Something that fit better than her gloomy garments.
Even the dress of amber brocade paled in comparison to the dresses of the ladies here at court. Would she be found plain? And those hairstyles- however did they manage such complex hairstyles?
When she was done sorting her things, Myna reluctantly left the comfort of her new room. A few maids smiled at her as she climbed the steps to the Hands dining room, relieved to see the girls just sitting down.
"Just in time, dear." Septa Mordane smiled, settling into her seat. "Supper has just begun. Lord Devran has said he shall be taking his supper in his room tonight, he seemed quite exhausted."
"The excitement of traveling always wears him down by the end of the day," Myna smiled. "He likely will be up bright and early tomorrow morning though."
"Myna, come sit by me," Arya said, rattling the chair next to her.
Myna catches Sansa turning her head to hide the rolling of her eyes. Still upset with each other, then. Goody. Myna patted Sansa's shoulder as she walked by, choosing the seat in between them instead of the one on Arya's left. Not for the first time since the trip started, Myna feels a bit like a toy between the two children. They sure tugged on her arms like one.
It isn't too long before the awkward tension between the sisters fills the room. Arya stabs away at the table with her dinner knife, her brown eyes narrowed on the table as if it had done her a personal offense. Sansa ate delicately, her knife strokes smooth and sure, her eyes steady on the plate in front of her. Not enough wine in Westeros could help Myna feel any less uncomfortable.
"Do you think we will have dessert?"
"Lord Devran left behind some pudding, though I am unsure how much of it has gone untouched by the guards." Septa Mordane's attention drifted to the petulant stab-happy young girl before her. "Enough of that young lady, eat your food."
"I'm practicing."
"What could you possibly be practicing for, I wonder?" Myna asked dryly. "Sansa, darling, you may wish to hide beneath your bed tonight."
"For the prince."
"Arya, stop!" Sansa shouted, dropping her cutlery. Septa Mordane pursed her lips in supreme disapproval, her face appearing as if she'd eaten something sour.
"Arya, don't say those things out loud! Think of who could hear you."
"He is a liar and a coward and he killed my friend."
"The Hound killed your friend."
"The Hound does whatever Joffrey tells him to. Myna, tell her."
"You're an idiot. Myna understands that."
"Myna thinks Myna wants more wine," Myna muttered, pouring another glass of wine.
Myna didn't even like wine much. A cup during social events was as far as she likes to go. Ale was even worse, the taste too wheaty for her to stomach. But right now Myna wished she could drink her way to a room without squabbling children.
Her brothers would have jumped across the table at each other by now, beaten each other up, and then made amends in time for dessert. Not that violence should be the answer to everything, especially petty fights, but Myna did wish things were as simple as that for these two. They have been pecking at her sanity like the little squawking birds they are. These girls are quite dear to her, but by the Old Gods, do they fight!
"You're a liar and a coward and if you'd told the truth, Mycah would still be alive."
Myna's head whips to look at the small girl in shock. Her hand snakes out and wretches the knife from Arya's grasp, slamming it into the table by her plate. Arya couldn't have meant it. She was too young to understand just how cruel her words were. Seeing the paleness cross Sansa's face as the words rammed into her was enough to drag Myna into the fight.
"Arya! If you must blame someone, blame Queen Cer-"
"Enough!" Septa Mordane shouts, standing so abruptly that her chair clatters to the ground behind her.
It is almost comedic, Myna thinks, that Lord Eddard has to choose then to walk into the room. Or it would be if he didn't look so utterly disappointed in them all. Exhaustion clings to him like a second skin, his slate grey eyes taking in the scene before him. Myna's mouth clicks shut.
"What is happening here?"
"Arya would rather act like a beast than a lady."
The comment is not directed at her and yet Myna flinches. It has been a long time since that word has been thrown that word in front of Myna while intended for someone other than a Briarwood. The word works its magic on Arya, her lip starting to wobble.
"Arya, to your room."
Arya jumps from her chair to run off. The tension in the room slowly dissipated, no longer full of angry words but sullen silence.
For a moment, Myna wants to stay. Morbid fascination has filled her. Would Lord Eddard rip into Sansa? Would he shed his stoic nature in turn for giving his eldest a word of advice? Instead, Lord Eddard takes his seat and gifts the girl a doll. Myna blinks down at it. A doll, beautifully made with rouge on its milk-pale cheeks rests in Sansa's small hands.
"If you will excuse me," Myna mutters, putting her napkin back on the table and taking a stand.
"I apologize for my daughter's actions, my lady. I doubt you came here to witness such childish behavior."
Myna shrugs. "Theodal would have been worse."
A ghost of a smile appears on Lord Eddard's face. "I have no doubt."
The next morning, she startles awake to her brother flinging a pair of breeches in her face. Myna sputters, tossing them back at him. Devran only stares at her in amusement as she blinks at him through blurry eyes.
"You have a little drool, right there." He points to his chin.
Myna touches her face. Dried spit rests at the corner of her mouth, and she scowls at her brother. "That is because I was asleep. Very deeply asleep. So asleep, that I had dreamed of a world where my brother does not wake me up so cruelly."
Devran rolled his eyes, tossing the breeches back at her again. They were her own pair, a set of oak brown boiled leather breeches that Myna loathed sliding into. It always meant bruises and tired lungs. Her body ached in protest and they haven't even started yet.
"Get dressed. I will be outside your door when you are ready."
He leaves the room without another word. Myna knows he will not wait long for her without getting impatient and tosses aside her blanket with a groan. Her simple cream sleeping shift flutters to the ground around her feet, goosebumps climbing up her legs and arms despite the warm air of the castle. She pulls on her breeches and sifts through her wardrobe for a long sleeved tunic.
A doe-skin jerkin and her wrist guards are added last, along with her worn riding boots. Whatever her brother was going to throw at her today, she would be ready. By the time she opened her door, her brother was about to knock. His hand falls back to its place on top of Shadowfang's hilt as he looks her over.
"Put your hair back. I don't want to risk cutting it."
He didn't need to tell her twice. Myna twists it into a simple plait as they walk out of the Tower of the Hand. "Where are we going?"
"There are plenty of empty spaces King Robert has offered for our use. This is simply one of them."
"And here I thought we were hiding my abilities."
"Practicing in a room without a single eye to bear witness is not exactly boasting. Winterfell's castle couldn't hide you as well, but the Red Keep can. If you get lackadaisical with your training, Myna, you could find yourself in a situation that breeds regret."
Her brother leads her through the castle, passing maids who avert their eyes and a few lower noblemen whose eyes find her brother's eyes too unsettling to stop to make conversation. Devran stalks through the halls like something meant to be in a cage, a wildness in him brewing beneath just his skin that even the stiffest of walks can't hide. Despite how controlled he tries to stay, how hard he works to contain himself, Myna thinks of an animal let loose in the castle when she looks at her brother's back.
Does she walk like him? Theodal walked much the same, though his gait was always easier. And Mangus twitched like a hare when he walked, his fingers always jerking like he wanted to grasp something or bolt away. From smiling at vendors to stalking the halls of the Red Keep, her brother is an altogether different person.
The room he leads her to is airy, with tall pillars of stone and large open balconies. There was enough room in here to host the entirety of their dining hall back home, Myna thought with wonder. How could such a large room not be utilized? A blessing in the form of a breeze ruffles the sleeves of her tunic and Myna finds herself drifting to the ledge of a balcony.
A snap of a plain leather whip at her feet causes her to drop and roll away. She scrambles to her feet, her eyes wide as she looks at Devran.
"What is wrong with you?"
"An enemy won't wait for you to do some sight seeing." The whip comes back to curl around his fist, the braided hilt snug in his hand. "This is what you will be using today."
Myna's brows furrowed. "Why not father's whip?"
"You want to learn how to use a whip by using one made of Valyrian steel? Little wolf, you have spent too much time around Theodal. You would break your bones with father's whip."
"Did you break a bone?"
"Once. I broke my fingers and could not so much as grasp a spoon. Here."
Devran surprised her by spinning the hilt around and handing it to her. It felt odd in Myna's hand, the bite of the leather different than the one from her blades. It was heavier than her daggers and much more ungainly, but…it felt perfect in her grip. Myna gives it a small crack, her breath leaving her in a shocked exhale.
More than her blades ever could be, the whip felt like an extension of her body. Like another arm. She looked to her brother, who was watching her with hawkish amber eyes. If her daggers were her claws, then this whip was like the arm of a Kraken.
"How does it feel?" Devran asks as if he knows, his lips curling up.
"Maybe I am a little Kraken," Myna smiles lopsidedly. "At least with this in my hands, I feel like one."
"That's a rather unexpected response. A good one, but an unexpected one nonetheless. If you come to prefer it over your daggers, I may pass it on to you early."
The thought of owning her father's Valaryian steel whip sent a thrill through her. She would be the one to carry on the true Briarwood legacy, and while the rest of Westeros would see it as just another weapon, Myna would know the truth. A daughter could not hold a family sword, but a whip?
A whip could be her weapon.
Devran has Shadowfang, Theodal has his twin axes Howling and Silver. Even Magnus had his arrows, his Greyjoy blood coming through to make him an expert archer. Finally, Myna thought. Finally she could have something of her own.
Myna turned to her brother, determination and excitement burning through her. "Show me how to use this," She all but orders.
"Watch your stance, keep it steady. And don't crack it at random, find the object and hold it there in your mind's eye."
It's harder than she thought it would be. By the time her brother allows her to take some water and rest her already aching arms, Myna is sure her body will collapse. Her shoulders burn like a fire has been set in between them, stretching out and curling over her upper arms. Her chest heaves, her lungs desperate for breath after breath. And still he pushes her on.
The basics alone leave her laying sprawled on the cool stone floor, her sweating body once again thankful for the breeze.
"Imagine how much your body will hurt when I start to teach you how to use it in battle," Devran smirks.
Myna groans in response.
"Unless I tell you otherwise, we will meet here every morning. If I cannot train you, you will work through the drills by yourself. And do not grow content with just the whip, little wolf, you must stay on top of your blades as well."
"How will I explain away the bruises?"
"Lord Stark knows of our activities and has said we can claim these hours as dance lessons. His own Arya has been taken under the wing of a Braavosi water dancer. Whatever that is."
"Arya has been dragged into combat training as well? She is just a girl."
"You were younger when father started to train you. She will be fine, Myna."
"What of Sansa?"
"What of her? She is her mother's daughter. There is no need for her to learn how to fight."
Myna lifts herself up with an unladylike grunt, leaning against her forearms. "Should she not learn how to defend herself? This isn't the north, as you have pointed out so many times."
Devran shrugged. "Lord Eddard has no plans for Sansa to be anything other than the perfect lady. If you were not a Briarwood, you would be living similarly. Now, once more. Run through the techniques I have shown you, and then you may go."
"You are evil," Myna mutters as she climbs onto shaking legs. "Utterly evil."
She's limping alongside her brother as they head back to the Tower of the Hand. Her stomach is gurgling and her body sings of pain every time she moves. Her brother is not a gentle teacher and has thoroughly worked her into the ground. Myna knows he will only do so again the next day. And the day after that.
And the day after that.
Myna glared at her brother's back. He seemed hardly affected by their training session, if not more relaxed. So relaxed that it's notescible when his shoulders and back line with tension as a voice calls out to them.
"Ah, Lord Briarwood. Just the man I wanted to see."
Myna has to peer around Devran's shoulders to see who is daring to stop her on her way to a hearty lunch. The man is smaller than Devran and clearly no fighter, his grey-green eyes sharp and his mouth smug. Streaks of white salt his dark hair, and the goatee on his chin come to a sharp conical point. Myna scans him for a sign of his House, only to frown at the pin of a mockingbird and a stack of books he clutches to him.
"Lord Baelish," Devran acknowledges curtly.
Baelish? Myna doesn't know of a lord named Baelish. He was not Northern to be sure.
"And this must be the lovely sister I have heard so much about."
Myna blinked up at him, being sure to not look him in the eyes for too long. Some of her hair has freed itself from its braid and become plastered to her sweating face. She was still half-slumped over herself, her body sagging to the ground and trembling from the exertion. Myna was calling horse shit.
"Myna Briarwood, my lord. Now if you will excuse us-"
"Lord Briarwood, surely you have time enough for a few questions?"
"Questions about what?" Myna blurted.
Curiously, Lord Baelish eyed her. He turned his smug face to her brother, his eyebrows raising as if in amusement. Myna is not unused to being silently laughed at but she was unused to her brother not jumping down their throats for it. Devran turned to his sister, face stony.
"Back to your room. Bath and then eat something. The rest of the day is yours. If you wish, you can use a piece of parchment from my collection and write to your little friend. Give the boy my regards."
Immediately, Myna perks up. It's a subtle mistake, for as she draws herself to her full height and starts to smile, her eyes fully level with Lord Baelishs. He holds in his surprise but the corners of his mouth twitches and his hands tighten their hold on his books. He glances away from her before dismissing her entirely, shifting so only the side of his face is clear to her. Her brother leans away from Lord Baelish's sudden appearance in his personal space, a grimace twisting on his face.
"Lord Baelish. Brother." Myna nods, scurrying past.
What a strange little man.
Myna forgets about him the second she sinks into the hot tub of water. Her muscles thank her for the sweet relief and she gives a thankful smile to the maid who rubs sweet-scented lily oil into her tired body. Her own personal bottle of clove and amber oil is added into the mix, and for a moment, Myna nearly dozes off.
The maid helps her out of the tub and into her shift. The sun is still high in the sky outside of the Tower, but Myna's mind is on her bed. A nap was in order, a long one, she decided. Then she would redress and venture out for a meal.
"M'lady, here is the ink and parchment."
She could barely nod, her head was so heavy. The maid closes her door behind her and Myna drags herself to her bed to snuggle beneath the blanket. A letter could wait.
As she fell asleep, Myna thought back to her brother. Odd, she thought. He seemed a tad nervous.
AN: Hell again! Leave those thoughts and questions down below, I'd love to know what you think!
