Warning: A family member strikes another in this chapter.
Myna is just ending her training when she hears the whispers. Lord Eddard has finally awoken. She wastes no time sprinting through the halls, dodging maids who grumble as they lift their baskets of dirty laundry above their heads to keep it free from Myna's rushing form By the time she bursts into the Tower of the Hand's common room, her breathing ragged, Sansa and Arya are already there.
They jump to their feet the second they see her and clutch at her tunic with tears of relief on their faces. Septa Mordane doesn't bother chastising them, her own relief palatable.
"Myna, he's awake! He's awake," Sansa sniffles delicately, pulling free an embroidered handkerchief to dab at her tears.
"I knew he would wake," Arya swears with a watery grin. "I just knew it!"
"Has he called for anyone yet?"
"No. King Robert and Queen Cersei have gone to visit him, so he may not for a while yet." Septa Mordane says.
"Then I believe we are in for a waiting game," Myna says, pushing the girls towards a set of chairs. "I am sure he will call for you soon."
Hours pass and the sun sinks beneath the horizon, leaving the sky the color of fresh bruises before Lord Eddard calls upon them. He even calls for Myna much to her surprise. Myna stands from her seat, popping the vertebrae in her back and shoulders, sharing a smirk with Arya when Sansa gives a shudder at the cracking sound.
Lord Eddard stands as tall as his wound allows him to, his hands clasped behind his back as he stands behind his desk. Arya and Sansa rush to him, peppering him with kisses and hugs, his sallow face dropping its stoic mask in the presence of his daughters. Myna hangs by the doorway, watching them. Lord Eddard surprises her when he extends a hand toward her.
"Don't just stand there," He says. "Come here."
"Don't mind me, really." It wasn't her moment to join in on. For as much as she wished for her father, he is nothing but bones beneath the soil. She tries to let Lord Eddard know how much his gesture means to her, a brittle smile twitching at her lips.
"Do I need to order you?" Lord Eddard asks dryly.
"Alright, alright," Myna mutters, stepping into the hug. Her heart threatens to burst within her chest. Her own father had held her often, his hugs warm and strong enough to lift her from her feet. Lord Eddard does not crush the girls to him, a weakness nearly hidden causing his arms to shake. Myna is all the more touched by his effort to include her. "I am glad you are well."
"As I am glad to be well," Lord Eddard says.
He clears his throat and takes a step back, nodding toward the two chairs in front of his desk. His daughters take them and Myna moves to stand behind them, her hands resting on their backs. As they waited for Lord Eddard to seat himself, she took a look around. She's never seen the inside of this room before, and yet she's unsurprised to find what she does. Lord Eddard is not one for embellishments, and though the woods and rugs are expensive imports likely from the Free Cities, the study is empty of collectibles.
It reads as a room he would have, down to the intentional piles of papers on his desk. The smooth varnish of Sansa's chair has begun to wear down with time, a hint of a groove peeking through the glossy surface. Myna absentmindedly rubs at it as she returns her attention back to Lord Eddard.
Pain clings stubbornly to his aging frame, his movements stiff despite the amounts of milk-of-the-poppy Maester Pycelle must have plied him with. Knowing Lord Stark, he likely turned the medicinal aid down in favor of a clear head.
"I am sending you three back to Winterfell." Lord Eddard says without any preamble. "In three days' time, there will be a boat at the docks to take you home."
"Really? So soon? Wonderful, I'll start packing-"
"No! What about my water dancing lessons?"
"You can't send us back home, I am to marry Joffrey! I am to be a princess," Sansa pleads, leaning forward at the edge of her seat. "Is this because of your leg?"
"Father, you can't!"
"I will see if Syrio will accept employment with us in Winterfell. Sansa, when the time comes, I will find you a match more suited to you. Someone who is kinder, gentle. Honorable. If it pleases you both, Myna, the match can involve your brother Magnus."
"My brother is nearly nineteen my lord," Myna protests, "He is much too old for Sansa, though it honors our family that you would consider him for her."
Just the thought of it made her stomach squirm. He would be a poor husband to Sansa. She is looking for a fairytale prince, and not an almost man with no hopes of becoming a lord. Magnus is prone to horrible bouts of melancholy and irritation, and he would surely dampen Sansa's ideas of love. Myna wished he were younger and of a better temperament because then they really could become sisters.
"Magnus? He will not even be a lord, let alone a king! Father, you can't. Please, this is all I've ever wanted."
"If it were Magnus, the betrothal would be long until you are of age, Sansa. It would make our family joined by marriage and the two of you sisters. Is that not agreeable?"
"I love Myna, but I want Joffrey! I want my lion, and to be queen, and to give birth to blonde babies with emerald eyes."
"Sansa, even if you did marry Joffrey, they may all come out with red hair like you. What will you do then?"
"They won't! His siblings are all blonde, just like the rest of the lions!"
"Joffrey isn't even a lion, he's a stag, like his father." Arya rolled her eyes.
"No, he isn't! He is nothing like that drunken old king."
"The Lannister blood must be truly strong," Myna says. "But I don't want to think about little Joffrey's. He's still a prat and one is more than enough."
Lord Eddard's eyes widened. Very quietly he says, "You are right. He is nothing like his father. Go pack your things, and do not dawdle. The ship will leave without or without us."
By the next morning, she's nearly done packing her things. She'd admittedly gotten tired halfway through, her aching muscles protesting each time she lifted her arms to put away a folded dress. As she breaks her fast, Myna gorges herself with fruits she may never see again.
Each piece of fruit tastes all the sweeter now that she is to return North. Juice runs down her chin as she bites into a rather plump peach, Septa Mordane's disapproval so far from her mind that Myna dismisses it easily. Even the Stark girl's grey moods that hang over the table like dark clouds do little to stop the jaunt in Myna's steps.
Already, she could picture herself running through the Wolfswood and on into the dark Briarwoods. Talk of a southern marriage would die with a wither and Myna could pick somebody who wouldn't leave her feeling like a wild animal trying to fit into the body of a shivering violet. She hums to herself as she eats, imagining grand reunions and possibly a trip to the Wall.
She would show up to the Wall, screaming like a goat as she promised. Jon Snow would come down from his icy tower like a princess from a fairytale, his fair face flushed red with her theatrics and his forehead furrowed as he broods over his lot in life. Then he would show her what the world looked like over the edge of the Wall, and together, they could imagine a life deep in the Frostfangs.
The juice turns bitter in her mouth and she puts the peach down with a sad smile. The thought is a beautiful lie, but Myna adores playing it out in her mind anyway. The truth is, that it would never be possible for her. Women aren't allowed at the Wall, and she is a daughter of a noble House besides. Her brothers would never let her go there. Not even for Jon.
"I don't see why we all have to leave. Just let Myna go home, she doesn't want to be here anyway." Sansa muttered, picking at her plate.
"You both know what Lord Eddard would say to that."
"When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives," Sansa said, the other two joining in. It's enough to bring half of a smile to Sansa's face and she takes a bite.
"Father loves that phrase."
"Aye, Lord Eddard only says it every time I visit. Sansa, is there a place you want to see once more? We can spend the day in the gardens and such if you wish. I haven't seen it in its entirety yet."
Sansa looks to her septa with an eager expression. "Surely we can do that, Septa Mordane?"
"If you have your things fully packed away, then I do not see why we can't."
"I still have some dresses to fold," Myna admits with a sheepish smile. "I can pack them away when we return."
"And I have a dance lesson with Syrio today. Father says if we have time tomorrow, I may practice with him before we leave for Winterfell."
Septa Mordane very nearly says no, Myna can see it on her face. But the old woman looks at the girl's expectant smiles and lets out a heavy sigh.
"After your meal, you two pack the rest of your things. Then Myna can meet us here and together we three can explore the castle while Aria is with her instructor."
"I'll be fast," Myna promises Sansa.
She takes a bite of bread larger than polite, washing it down with the watered-down Arbor wine that has been set out for breakfast before she springs from her seat. Maybe Septa Mordane will allow her to pluck a few flowers from the gardens to press into a book. Even if she doesn't, Myna will take them anyway and hide them in her gown till they get back. If she's quick enough, maybe she can grab a few for Sansa as well.
Myna makes quick work of the winding stairs that lead her to the Briarwoods floor, the path imprinted in her mind. She makes a game of avoiding every crack, her quick steps as silent as the falling of snow as she descends them. Her chest lays open at the foot of her bed, just as she had left it the night before.
"Let's get this done with, yeah?" Myna murmurs to herself.
The sound of hurried footsteps echoes down the hallway and her door creaks as it's forced open wider. Myna glances over her shoulder with furrowed brows, only to relax when she sees Devran. Her brother stalks towards her, something white crumpled in his hand. Myna turns to greet him with a smile.
"Devran, what is it-"
Crack . The back of Devran's hand strikes her cheek.
Myna's head whips to the side. Copper fills her mouth and she faintly realizes her lip is split. As if her body is not her own, her hand moves of its own accord. Her fingertips pull away with drops of red.
Never once has her brother hit her outside of the training room. He's never looked at her the way he is looking down at her now, his features twisted into an expression of total disdain. A letter is shoved before her eyes, her heart plummeting at the sight of her own handwriting.
"W-what- You read my letter?"
"I have indulged you quite enough, I believe. I believed that King's Landing would do you some good, to take the gloom and doom from your frayed mind and set you free from whatever it is that happened in the forest. But you still crave unnatural things. You are a human, not an animal, Myna. 'Little wolf' is only a pet name, not the truth of you."
Every word he speaks is like venom to Myna's chest. It corrodes past her flesh, past her protective ribs, and right down to her beating heart. Her hands tremble at her sides and the embarrassing sting of tears makes an appearance. Devran looks wild, his hair is mussed and eyes bloodshot as he looks down his nose at her. For a moment, Myna thinks he means to hit her again but pain twists in his face and he steps back.
"Devran, brother, please let me explain-"
Devran's voice only grows louder, his anger filling the room. "I had hoped that training would wear your edges down but you are as sharp as ever, aren't you, you wicked little thing? You will not ruin all that I have built here. I will not allow it."
"That letter was private. How could you read it? How could you throw it in my face like this?"
Ever so slowly, he deflates. "Myna. Nothing you write is private. Not here in King's Landing. You have no idea what we have stepped into, the entirety of it all-"
"I told you to tell me everything-"
"That is simply not an option. You would understand if I could tell you. I will tell you when everything is over. But you cannot be sending sanctioned letters to bastards, especially not when they involve your…peculiarities. You are not well, Myna."
"You said I could send letters to Jon," She protested. "How is this any different?"
"It is different because this other bastard of yours has a reputation that would make even you want to be sick all over the floor. Have you truly heard no whispers of his deeds?"
"No. And whose fault is that?"
Devran pinches the bridge of his nose, amber eyes narrowing. "I am trying to protect you, Myna."
"Protecting me and claiming me as something unwell and wicked are very dissimilar," Myna mutters. She turns to her truck and pulls free a handkerchief, careful as she dabs away at the blood. "What am I to you, brother? A beast or a girl?"
"You are my sister. Something I don't understand, but will fix . Mark my words, Myna. I will make a life for us both that we can be proud of."
The words made no sense to Myna. She is proud of her life. While what happened in the forest feels like a splotch of ink on otherwise pristine paper, with her 'peculiarities' as faint marks against her, Myna is proud to be a Briarwood. At least, that's what she wants to believe. If she believes herself to be tainted, if she feels like she is truly lost to the world…Myna doesn't know what she would do.
So she grips her lies around her like a child's blanket and turns back to her brother with a fierce look. "It doesn't matter what you want. Lord Eddard is sending us back North, haven't you heard?"
Her brother stills. "Is that so?"
"He decided last night. We are all going to get on a ship the morning after this one."
"I see. If you will excuse me, I have things to pack then." Devran turns, the letter in his fist crumbling. He stops at the doorway, voice feather soft. "Find some ice to put on your wound. Or a Maester."
He leaves without another word and something in Myna splinters.
When she returns, she is quiet. Arya has run off to her lesson with Syrio, but Sansa and Septa Mordane wait by the freshly cleaned table. Myna knows when they spot her face when she hears them gasp.
"Oh dear, what happened?" Septa Mordane says, rushing over as fast as is proper.
The dagged sleeves of her silk dress fluttered behind Sansa like butterfly wings as she drifted over. Myna stares at this wisp of a girl and momentarily wishes she could burn everything down to the ground around her. Sansa, who is beautiful with her autumn locks and sapphire eyes. Sansa, who still has her parents, and brothers who would rather cut their hands off before laying them on her. Myna flinches back from the hand Sansa brings to her cheek, clenching her jaws shut to keep her teeth from snapping at those pale fingers.
Sansa's hand hovers between them, the offering of comfort lost as she drops it. Myna's smile makes her feel like she's got mud coursing her veins. The lie comes easily, and she realizes that she's done more lying since they've left Briarwood than she has in years.
"I fell. I was packing my things and tripped over a gown. How silly of me," Myna chuckles.
It must be easy for Sansa to swallow her lie. The girl gulps it down and chuckles along with her, and Myna wants to throttle her. Can't you see? Don't you get it? Her House words threaten to make her bark out a sharp laugh as they enter her mind. 'Now You See Us' is just another lie. Nobody sees her. Not really.
Septa Mordane's lips pressed tightly together. "We will get something from the maester for this."
Maester Pycelle hands them a tonic that he swears will help the swelling go down. Myna tosses it back. All the while, Sansa is nothing but kind. Her resentment curls up and dies in her belly and she gulps back the onslaught of guilt.
They continue with their plans at her insistence, ignoring the more audacious court members who whisper at her swollen cheek. It pulsed with each beat of her heart. When Sansa begins pointing out all her favorite things and telling stories of what she's learned in King's Landing, Myna eagerly lets it drown out the whispers and the throbbing of her cheek.
"Girls, maybe we can discuss something other than love stories?"
"Love stories are part of history, Septa Mordane," Myna said cheekily.
"Jonquil and Florian the Fool are a favorite of mine."
"You always make me tell that tale," Myna said. "Are there any others you like?"
"Aemon the Dragonknight is a rather good tale, don't you think? He was quite noble."
"Ah, yes, the Dragonknight. Which was he again? I always confuse their names. The letters get mixed around in my head." Never mind writing letters. Those took so much out of her.
"At least you do well with sums. Is that why you love stories so much? Because you can remember them?"
Myna flushed. "That is true, in part. It is easier to picture them when I hear them spoken aloud than trying to read from some dusty old book. And I never have to remember them exactly, I can bend the stories to my whims."
"You should practice harder with your letters, my lady. If you stay in Winterfell long, I can help you." Septa Mordane offered.
"Thank you, Septa Mordane. I will take that under consideration." Myna said, knowing she would definitely not take that under consideration. Reading too long made her head spin.
"I rather enjoy your stories," Sansa smiled sweetly. "Do you know any of the Targaryens?"
"I know many. It is another matter if I can remember their names."
"Tell me one you know."
"Let us see…there was a Briarwood once, who fell for a Targaryen prince."
Sansa stopped in her tracks, taking hold of Myna's hand. "Truly?"
"Dyanna Briarwood," Myna nodded. "She fell for Aemond Targaryen. It is not something we usually speak of, given how horribly it ended for them both."
"The Dance of Dragons," Sansa whispered, "How tragic. Did he love her in return?"
"Desperately, if you believe the story. When he washed up on the shore with Daemon's sword still in his eye, she-"
"Ladies, let us speak of something happier. None of that ugly Targaryen business. Not here. Not after what that nasty family has done to the poor people of Westeros."
"Alright Setpa," Myna sighed. "How about the Most Fair? Maris the Maid, the daughter of Garth Greenhand?"
"That is acceptable, though I do wish you would tell a story of real people."
This time, Myna ignores the septa. As she told her tale, the two girls head toward the gardens. The summer air is full of fragrant scents, the blooming of perfect flowers all around them as they walk. Septa Mordane is kind enough to let them wander a few feet ahead of her, far enough where they can pretend they are alone together without her constant shadow.
Not exactly a love story, Maris the Maid is a story of a girl who escaped a marriage by getting into another one. It was fun, pretending to be Maris the Maid as she spoke of the tourney for her hand and the way men threw themselves at her feet. The garden around them paled in comparison to the gardens of the Reach in Myna's tale, but each flower worked in helping paint the picture she saw in her own mind for her captive audience of one.
The gardens in Winterfell and the Briarwood both were domed by glass but the vegetation there was less diverse than here. With Cersei as queen, it is a small wonder that the gardens are perfect. They watch as hummingbirds and bees speed by with delight as they take a moment to breathe, sitting on an iron-wrought bench.
"Have you ever been in love, Myna?" Sansa whispers bashfully.
"I have not," Myna says with a wistful smile. "It sounds beautiful in the songs and stories though, doesn't it? Love, I mean. They even say the gods fashioned us for love. "
"It does sound lovely. I want to fall in love soon."
"And here I thought you fancied the prince?"
"I do! But father wants to undo our betrothal." Sansa frowned. "I want to marry the prince, I really do. It's the father who insists otherwise. Do you think once we are back home, your brother will finally find you a match? I am terribly sorry you haven't found one here."
"I'm not. I don't want to marry some southern ponce, I want to marry someone from home. I do hope my brother doesn't find a match too soon."
"Maybe your brother will match you with Ser Jaime Lannister before we leave, and we can be family like my father says, only lions instead."
"Ser Jaime is part of the Kingsguard, they don't ever marry or have children you know."
"I know. But it would be wonderful if it could happen."
"Besides, I would rather eat a rat alive than marry a man like Ser Jaime."
"Myna!" Sansa gasped. They quickly looked over their shoulders at Septa Mordane, who had stopped some spare feet behind them, her face buried in a flower. "That is uncourteous of you to say."
"He is not here to hear me," Myna grinned toothily. "Besides, it is true. He is handsome, that is plain to see, but he mocked me when I spoke with him."
"You spoke with him? Alone? Oh, what did he say? Tell me, now!" Already, Sansa had a dreamy look in her eyes. If she had the talent, she would likely be composing songs about Jaime and Myna. And then play them herself, because she's utterly talented with a harp and has a voice sweeter than honey.
"He mocked me," Myna repeated. "He thinks I am nothing but a dog."
"What if he is cruel to hide his feelings?"
Disgust rolled in her stomach. Ser Jaime is an ass, and he is much too old for her, though he is terribly handsome in his golden way. Their children would be all gold, from their hair to their eyes most likely.
"Then he is not someone I would like to love. Men who can be cruel to the ones they love are not good men, Sansa. My own father told me so. And he is much too old."
'If he is willing to hurt you in a moment of anger, he is willing to do much worse.'
She wondered what her father would say about her brother. Would he say Devran loves her, and had made a mistake with his act of cruelty? Or would he have shattered the bones in her brother's hand for harming her on purpose? Myna wonders when remembering what her father would do has started to slip away.
"You are right. My mother and father are never cruel to each other. They love each other deeply."
"As did mine," Myna said quietly. "From what I recall."
Their love had been something of a fairytale. Her mother Mildred Greyjoy and her father Randolph Briarwood had been arranged to be married as children, in the hopes to bridge the gap between the Ironborn and the greater Houses of the North. As they grew up, their love had come along and woven them into an inseparable pair. In her memories, her father could push away the worst of her mother's moods and her mother brought forth a softness that Randolph seldom showed.
Her mother would smell of the sea, all brine and fresh air in contrast to her father's clove and oak. It was her who taught Myna how to swim. It was also her who taught her father how to spin stories that didn't involve bits of history. They'd tell their stories to their children when they gathered together, tales of mermaids and dark forests and battles of magic.
"According to my mother, the first Greyjoy king had taken a mermaid as a wife."
"A mermaid? But those aren't real," Sansa giggled.
"The ocean is quite deep, who knows what is down there! Krakens exist, why not a mermaid?"
"If mermaids are real, I wish to meet one."
"I doubt you will hold to those sentiments if you hear how they truly are. My mother used to say they would cling to sailor's legs and drown them simply because they desired to. And they likely smell like fish." Myna wrinkled her nose with a playful smirk. "Do you want to smell like fish?"
Sansa's expression matched Mynas's. "Never. Suitors would run from me. Myna, do you ever miss Pyke?"
"I scarcely remember it. In my mind, it is all harsh faces and grey rocks."
"Theon says it is more than that. Foreboding with long winding wooden bridges between the lands and priests of the Drowned God who walk around in salt-stained robes. He says it's always wet there, even in summer, and that the cold is worse than the Frostfangs."
"He's a Greyjoy, he thinks making it sound miserable makes it sound intimidating and inspiring. I don't remember the cold much, but it's impossible for it to be as cold as the Frostfangs. He just wants to seem big and strong," Myna rolls her eyes. "He is such a show-off. Never compliment him, Sansa, it will only make his head grow even larger."
"I don't even think I can help him, he never stops talking about Balon."
"He likely misses him, though my mother says he was a terrible brother, he is Theon's father."
"He is more Stark than Greyjoy, by now. He and Robb are like brothers."
"Aye, they are. A miracle, don't you think?"
"Why do you say so?"
"Well...the circumstances are strange to say the least."
"He is my father's ward," Sansa said, brows furrowing delicately.
Myna bites her tongue. Theon is a hostage, though ward has a cleaner ring to it. Once again, Myna looks at Sansa and sees nothing but a little girl who understands nothing of the world. Seeing the way Sansa rushes to defend her father, how she doesn't see what Myna sees…she can't bring herself to destroy that innocence no matter how aggravating it is at times.
She opens her mouth to apologize, to change the conversation, when the hummingbirds disperse in a great rush. Sandor Celgane looms over them, his shadow large enough to swallow them both whole. His scar is made all the more petrifying by his scowl, but Myna grins on reflex.
"Ser Clegane, lovely to see you."
"I am no ser, Briarwood. King Robert has taken a tusk to that fat belly of his and is likely dying as we speak. They sent me to send you back to your rooms."
Myna's grin falls. "Oh."
Sandor snorts. "Let's go."
An: I don't want to crush Sansa's childlike excitement. It's going to hurt when it happens. A Little Dove must learn to fly, after all. Also, I know that it was more commonplace back then to marry off older men to younger women but in Myna's excuse, Sansa is thirteen and Myna is sixteen. Everyone seems old to her lol If she ever met Maester Aemon, she'd think him ancient and near dust.
ALSO. Dyanna Briarwood. Yeah, I caved lol.