tw: mentions the rape of ramsay bolton's mother.
From within the Sept of Baelon, the bells ring and ring. The roads outside of the Red Keep swell with unwashed bodies, people rushing back and forth to spread the news that the king is dead. Myna shuffled anxiously by her window, waiting.
The king is dead.
King Robert, the man who has struck the Young Dragon down with his war hammer, and claimed the Iron Throne. The man who was friends with her father and should be alive to tell her all the stories he has of him. All because of a boar.
Whispers have already seeped through the castle of how he'd died. Rumors of murder and tales of a monstrous aurochs bigger than Robert himself battle each other in the halls. A few voices, the ones Myna could take seriously, claim he'd overindulged in his wine and that the boar had gotten the best of him for it. A man who toppled a monarchy and died by the tusk of an oversized pig. What a pitiful way to go.
A Kingsguard comes into her room just then, his white cloak following behind him like a dutiful pet. The morning sun shines through her stained-glass window and paints his white-scaled armor in a sea of color. With his close-cropped hair and clean-shaven face, Myna almost doesn't recognize her brother.
It's his eyes that give him away. As gold as she knows her own are. Her mind is slower than her tongue, her gaze honing in on his stony expression.
"No. What did you do?"
"Lord Eddard has been seized for treason."
"He would never commit treason."
"And yet he is locked within the Black Cells beneath the keep for the very crime. He is of the mind that our new king is baseborn."
"Joffrey is already king? It has not even been a day. And what idiot would lay with the wife of Robert Baratheon?"
"To the unloyal cretins, Ser Jaime is the culprit."
"They are siblings-"
"It's a vile lie."
"Lord Eddard would never claim something so damning, not without absolute proof that it's happened. Either he has been lied to, or he's telling the truth and you're forsaking him!"
Devran flashes her a warning look. Foreboding is the word that comes to mind, as he glowers at her from her doorway, sporting armor that he has no business wearing. The dots are trying to connect and yet Myna refuses to let them. Her mouth feels as dry as cotton and it takes a few swallows to wet it enough to speak.
"He must be confused. Surely, he must be."
"He may remain confused in his cells, then."
"Brother…how did you get your armor?" She asks quietly.
"By doing what must be done."
"For who?"
"For us. Don't you see, Myna? We are free now. No longer do we Briarwoods have to be the dogs of the Starks. We aren't wild creatures bound to a master who has never thanked us, not truly. We have gotten lands and a name from them, but they've never married us into their House. They've never treated us as equals. We are nothing but their pets."
"What did you do , Devran?"
He steps into the room and it's like he takes up all the space in it, his shoulders broadened by the armor and height accentuated by the length of the cloak. Without the Briarwood hairstyle the men of her family usually sport, or the thick bread he had modeled after their father, Devran looks like he could be from the South. It's his eyes that give him away and it's in his eyes that she looks for her brother.
"I've given us a new life. Queen Cersei and Ser Jaime have seen to it that we will never need to head the orders of another Stark again. I simply made sure we were not present when Lord Eddard was…found."
"That can't be all. Not for a Kingsguard cloak."
"I've been a squire for years, Myna. They've seen how I can fight. I only had to warn them, should Lord Eddard try to abscond with King Joffrey's betrothed."
He leaves and Myna wishes she were brave enough to take his sword from him and run him through. The thought should disgust her, the blood of her own brother on her hands, but she is so full of anguish she can see nothing else but his white cloak stained red.
To be a part of biting the hands that feed brings her to her knees.
Every letter she writes she throws right into the fire. The flames hungrily eat her words, swallowing all she has to say and spitting forth ash. With each move she makes, she wonders if there is someone watching. Paranoia keeps Myna locked in her room and hidden away from even the kindest of servants. There has been no word of Sansa, nor Arya, and morbid thoughts threaten to rip her apart.
Her brother brings her bits and pieces of news when he remembers her, his scaled armor a constant reminder of his betrayal despite how kindly he delivers his words. He must have intercepted a servant today, for in his hands is her mid-day meal.
"Myna, you should be eating."
"Food turns my stomach."
"You can at least look at me when you speak."
Myna looks up from the fire, force-feeding it another of her unsent letters. Did Robb believe she betrayed him? Did Jon? They had to know she is no turncloak. If they thought she betrayed them just as her brother has, she'll simply have to find a way to escape and head back North to remind them of her friendship.
Escape. Myna snorts to herself. Like she could escape the Red Keep. No, she and the Starks are in the clutches of the Lannisters now. No matter how proficient she's becoming with her weapons, she cannot fight an army on her own.
"Tyrion has been freed and is on his way here. It seems the Stark boy has declared war."
"What?" Her gaze sharpens and she stares at her brother in disbelief. "Robb has declared for war?"
"That got your attention. It's a foolish endeavor if you ask me."
"He is the son of Eddard Stark. Robb won't let this treatment of his father and sisters stand."
"Between Lord Tywin and Ser Jaime, he will be crushed like a flea beneath their heels. He is too green and has not seen true war."
"What of Theodal? Of Magnus? What do our brothers think of what you've done? Have they declared for the North?"
Devran's face could be etched from stone. It's his eyes that give him away, the life behind them tainted with his own feelings of betrayal. It's enough to make Myna smile.
"They have. All correspondence between our traitorous brothers is forbidden. Do not try to send a letter for their help, they will not come for you."
"Robb will come for his father. You know he will."
"And he will die for his hasty choices and so will thousands of his men. When this paltry play at war is over, I will return to the North long enough to clean up the mess our brothers will make of our House. That boy will be the end of his line if he doesn't see sense soon."
"I hope otherwise," She says quietly. "I hope Robb destroys them all."
"Clearly you are still in need of time to reconsider the gift I've given us. I shall leave you to your contemplation."
He turns to leave but Myna's low voice halts him in his tracks, his head tilted as if trying to catch her words.
"This entire time, you've been selling his secrets, haven't you?"
"It's what paid for your beautiful room and lovely dresses. We need not spend our own coin any longer."
"We are a noble family with wealth for ages, I don't care about the coin! I care that you've betrayed everything we stand for. A Briarwood's loyalty is a thing of legends and you've spat on its face. Do you not see what you have done? You've ruined us!"
It only takes Devran stepping closer for Myna to shut her mouth. The bruise on her cheek has begun to turn to a steady ugly yellow, no longer the brutal purple it had been. It tingles in time with the sound of his creaking armor. Sweat beads along her brow as he leans in.
"I saved us. A few secrets of a man too cowardly to take the throne as his own are nothing in the face of what we will have, Myna. Glory and renown will be our crowns."
"You've traded us one cage for another," Myna whimpers.
"Either you will come to see it my way, or you will not. The plans remain the same. We will stay in King's Landing and you will find a man who can tolerate you. Until then, get comfortable in your cage, sister."
Captivity does her no wonders. She feels like a beast pacing its cage, something in her gut growing and straining beneath the skin with each day that passes while Lord Stark is imprisoned. Her brother allows her daily walks around the castle, either with himself at her side or that with no less than four guards. One of them hangs back, far enough out of her reach that she'd need to throw her dagger to get him and thus lose one of two weapons against the three others.
He's meant to run and find others as soon as possible, Myna knows. If she gets past her guards, she'd have to chase him down and waste time running him down. And every second counts in a castle full of guards.
It's mind-numbing boredom that has her picking apart her brother's antics. Without her daily training, Myna's twitchiness has returned. Her hands fidget, fingers dancing along her wristguards, aggravation building each time she traces the hidden edges of her daggers. Despite his newfound love for the Lannister monarchy, he didn't strip her of her blades. It was unlike him, and frankly, it unsettled her.
It means he switched sides for a master who he couldn't even trust.
Baffling, if you asked her. Infuriating as well. Briarwood's could be blind in their trust, but at least they had it. And Devran was walking them into a war with his eyes wide open.
Theodal would have broken their brother's bones by now and forced his way out of King's Landing, dragging Devran behind him to enact northern justice. Magnus would have likely already killed him and made it look accidental. Her brothers were forces of nature, the blood of the First Men and the Ironborn in them and making them hungry for retribution.
Myna? Myna can't leave, not without Sansa and Arya. Myna is stuck with her imbecilic guards trailing her, their dull minds not even worth a single conversation. It was like he picked the most moronic people possible if only to infuriate her further. They didn't even have any stories for her to listen to! Nothing. Just the clink-clack of their armor as they dogged her every step.
So when she spots a familiar suit of armor in the distance, the helm of a canine winking under the bright sun in the garden, she veers right for it. The Hound does not look happy to see her, his quiet conversation with his partner stopping as he turns his head to stare her down. She smiles wider and keeps walking.
Behind a ledge, tired and small looking is Sansa. Myna pauses mid-step, frozen. They launch into each other's arms, gripping each other tightly.
"Sansa! You are alright!"
"Gods, Myna, have you seen Arya?"
"Arya's missing?"
"She has been since father was taken. Nobody can find her anywhere."
"And your septa? Where's Septa Mordane?"
Sansa only gives a minute shake of her head, tears springing to her big blue eyes.
Myna swallows. "And they've left you with Clegane?"
Sandor scowled. "I haven't hurt her thus far."
"I know you won't hurt her," Myna sighed. She sent a glare over her shoulder at her dawdling companions and said under her breath, "Now if only you could hurt them."
"How are you so sure I won't hurt the little bird?" His eyes narrowed, his scowl twisting further.
She gives him her blankest stare. "She is still alive. You don't play with your food, do you?"
Sandor snorts, surprising them all. Even he looks a little taken aback. When Sansa lets loose a half-aborted giggle, the Hound doesn't soften per say. But something in his eyes stops appearing so sharp and ready to draw blood. Myna eyes him curiously. For a man so afraid of the fire, he's nearly gentle for a girl with molten hair.
Myna tracks their interactions the entire time, a single question rising in her mind.
Is he friend or foe?
"Walk with me?" Myna asks, painting the command as a question.
Sansa nods, sending the Hound a timid smile and standing at her side. Myna glances at the Hound, jerking her chin as subtly as possible. Understanding lights up those blue eyes and Sansa turns to the Hounds general direction, her sweetest voice at play.
"Please, Ser. A little privacy."
"I am no Ser," He growls. "Go on, little bird. I will not be too far behind."
When Myna's own guards try to follow, it only takes the Hound putting his hand on the pommel of his sword to keep them at bay. They still, watching him warily. The one meant to be a runner slides back with a stiff expression.
"Calm yourself boy," Sandor says. "I would have killed you already if I had wanted to."
It's Myna's turn to snort. She loops her arm into Sansa's and guides her away, the younger girl's hand shaking where it rests on her arm.
"Myna, I'm afraid," Sansa confesses, the words rushing out of her.
"Shh, we cannot speak of that. Not even in front of him," Myna says, glancing back at Sandor who trails behind them lazily.
He is worth more than all four of Myna's guards. She knows a single swing from him would cleave her in half if she tried to fight him up front. And throwing a dagger presents the same danger it does with the other four morons- she'd be down a weapon and left open to be gutted like a pig.
"He isn't so scary, you know. Just mean. Like a bad dog."
"But he is not your dog, Sansa. You will do well to remember that."
"Then what do we speak of? What else is there?"
"Anything else, I suppose. How are they treating you? Are you well? Have you seen anyone other than the royal family?"
"No, nobody except for maids. Myna, what will happen to us?"
Myna bit her lip. "If I gave you an answer, it would not be truthful. I don't know what will happen to us. But I do believe I have the beginnings of a plan."
"What is it?" Her voice heightens and Myna shoots her a look. When the Hound doesn't so much as perk up, Myna continues.
"For you, you do what you are told. No matter what it is, do it if Joffrey or Cersei asks it of you. No matter how unpleasant, how upsetting, I need you to do what they ask if only to keep you safe."
"What of you? What will you do?"
"Nothing too dangerous. I promise. But can you do that for me? Can you do what they ask of you?"
Sansa clenches her jaw, determination burning bright in her gaze. "I can."
Myna is not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. She's an opportunist, first and foremost, by nature. So when her brother comes sliding into her room one morning, she is already waiting for him, her daggers drawn. One soars through the air and slices through the skin of his cheek, a warning to stay where he is lest the other drives itself somewhere less pleasant. It sinks into the wood behind him.
"I'm getting bored, brother."
Devran wipes the blood beading on his cheek with the back of his hand, his golden eyes furious. "This is how you greet me? With a blade through my skin?"
Myna takes a seat at the edge of her bed, one of her legs hopping up and down despite how hard she tries to still it. Her fingers grip the sheets, her knuckles turning white.
"You damn me for my nature and then keep me in the walls of a castle as if ignorant to what keeps me calm. Does it really surprise you that I am getting restless?" Her hands wring together, an impatient noise clawing its way through her throat.
"You have been out. The gardens see your gloomy face daily, those unfortunate flowers."
Switching tactics, Myna takes to begging. It feels slick as oil across her skin, the tears in her eyes stinging them with humiliation. "Please, Devran. An hour a day is not enough. I feel like I am going to crawl out of my own skin."
He doesn't soften as he pulls her dagger free from the wall. He throws it back to her but misses by a foot, his aim nowhere near her own.
"You have made your point," She continues. A stray thread tickles her fingers and she picks at it, watching as the seam of her sleeve begins to unravel. "You are only trying to do what is best for us."
Devran quirks a brow. "You are coming around to sense, then?"
She gives a slow nod, eyes flickering to his face. A tear spills down her cheek as she spits out the words. "I don't want to be a dog anymore, either."
Myna says it like it's a shameful secret but Devran's face lights up like it's the best news he has heard in a long while. He schools his features, ever the desperate disciple of remaining unaffected, but the corners of his mouth twist upward. He looks so much like their father when he smiles like that. She hates it.
"Is that so?"
"Aye. You said we could have our own dreams. Did you mean that? I could be anything I want?"
Devran cautiously steps to her. In the reflection of his armor, Myna looks distorted. Small. Let him see her this way, she thinks. Let him think her small and ignorant.
"Anything you want is a lot to ask for. But free from another House's demands is a nice start, don't you think? What is it that you dream of, little wolf?"
To be out of this room. To be in the woods somewhere, running wild. For my daggers in your traitorous belly and those of everyone keeping us in this fucking cage of a castle.
"I don't know yet. I never thought of it," Myna admits. "But now at least I can think of it."
He crouched before her and took his hands in his. "Everything down to who you would marry in the future was decided by the Starks and our father. I know that the freedom of choice is overwhelming, but at least you have it now. I understand the way your heart wars with itself, truly, I do. I never wanted this for us, but I never wanted that for us either. Especially for you."
"What do you mean? What do you mean, my marriage was decided by the Starks? I thought it was father's idea to marry me off to Domeric."
"No," Devran smiles sadly. "Not entirely. If you'd marry Domeric, it was to watch his House for the Starks. The Boltons have never been a friend to them, not truly."
Goose pimples break out across her skin. "Watch for the Starks?"
"Myna, are you truly so blind to your love for those unsavory to mankind that you do not see what you have befriended? That Bolton bastard is a menace to the North. A monster made flesh. Their sigil of the flayed man is not only for show, not only a remembrance of the old days. They continue those practices even now."
"Ramsay is odd, even violent, but he isn't a mon-"
"He is the worst of them and his father does nothing to tame him. If you had married his brother like father planned, it would have put you in his path one way or another."
"You say he's the worst of them…What has he done? Please, tell me."
The words spill from his mouth but Myna doesn't hear them.
They drop to her feet, useless, her mind twisting backward in time to reflect on every interaction with Ramsay. Every sign that showed there was something too off about him to be safe, every instance of the horrible creature that lurks beneath his skin as much as the beast in her chest does in her. But the hint of the horrible creature, the one she found a strange kinship with, is everything she's never wanted to be.
The boy she had befriended was an illusion. A conjuring up of her scrambled mind after she'd come out of the woods and was so very desperate for a friend who understood her.
And the Starks had agreed to let her be married into his House. Nevermind that he was only accepted this year, his tainted blood runs in Bolton veins. His own father had raped his mother, a commoner who had dared to marry without his knowledge and then hung the man who had been her husband.
Myna's world tilts sideways.
Her father, her loving father, would have signed her away to them as a spy for another's family. All her training makes sense now. How she's been allowed to climb things, to carry concealed daggers despite the lack of honor in such a weapon, how she's never been truly trained as a soldier but more of a killer in the shadows.
Her stomach rolls and she throws up at her brother's feet, any semblance of a plan forgotten.
An: Now you know who her secret friend is! Fucked up, huh?
Also, the Briarwood haircut is basically a modern mullet lol. Like, the rockish ones. Not the Joe-Dirt ones. Pick the best-looking one you come across and that's it!
Devran...idk why he's like this
