Miru
Miru could still recall the first day she ever set foot in the Red Keep.
Those had been the early days of her time with Titus, when she could still scarcely understand her own good fortune after such pain and suffering that she'd been forced to endure. That she was brought to King's Landing and presented to the Targaryens as Titus' ward… it would have overwhelmed her even if she hadn't been coming to grips with her scarred body, plagued with nightmares of Brodda Hill and her murdered family.
As it was, the ceremony left her speechless and shaking as she'd been trotted out before the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They and their family had all stared at her, as folk did when they first saw her face. Titus had introduced her as "Lady Miru of Crakehall," as if she were a daughter of the brindled lord himself.
She'd tried to curtsy, as Barba and Septa Jyzene had been teaching her. They'd given her words to say, they'd told her when to address the royal family, and how to speak to them. All their lessons were forgotten when she actually stood before Baelor and Jena, Aerys and Aelinor, Daeron and Myriah.
The latter had terrified her when she'd approached and kissed her face without any warning. It was a harmless gesture; anyone else would have been warmed by such motherly kindness. Not Miru; she had been uncomfortable in her own skin, as it was. Brodda had violated her, then his cronies had burned her. Myriah had been her queen, but she'd also been another stranger; Miru had instinctively recoiled and wailed in discomfort. Titus had quickly whisked her away after that, and nobody had ever discussed that encounter in her presence again.
Except Barba. She had held Miru in her arms and consoled her as she'd sobbed. "He meant well," she'd assured him. "The Queen meant well. She has a good heart. But you did nothing wrong neither."
Standing in the Great Hall with her family, even all those years later, Miru was viscerally reminded of that terrible day. She'd nearly quailed at the scornful contempt which Lord Bloodraven exuded against her father; such arrogant insult could only be delivered by a man whose power was impregnable, and who relished in using it against those whom he disliked.
The crowds of nobles had been witnesses to this humiliation, and none of them had said a word. She had no doubt that many had enjoyed her father's shame; life had taught her how casually men and women could embrace cruelty and wield it against those who'd never wronged them. Instead, she wondered how many of those in attendance secretly hated Bloodraven but were too cowed to admit it.
Now she had another reason to feel indignant. It had nothing to do with how Vaella recoiled from her; she had come across girls who shared her nature before. They needed patience and understanding before trust could form.
What irked her was this notion by Princess Jena and Princess Kiera to put Vaella on the throne was a baffling one. Even after Sadog and her father relayed what they'd discussed, she still found it cruel to subject a girl like Vaella to this game of thrones.
She held her tongue on that matter, however. Instead, when the discussion seemed to be finished, she began another subject.
"I don't know if you recall," she said to Jena, "but did you ever find a trace of Barba?"
Jena hesitated - she's forgotten her after all - but then her countenance became morosely apologetic. "I'm so sorry, Miru. We never found out where she might have gone."
Miru had expected this. It would have been ridiculous to hope for something better. And yet, she'd still fancied that she might have found Barba somewhere, waiting for her. Would she even recognise me after all these years? Would I recognise her?
Baalun and Leroya were still drunkenly singing; Matthias, at least, had ceased refilling his goblet at some point, for Miru sensed that he was recovering his composure.
"Come, then," Titus declared. "If our business is at an end for today, I should like to rest before supper. It has been a long day."
Miru bade her farewells to Jena, Kiera, and to Vaella as well. Only after they'd begun to ascend one of the winding staircases did she confront her father on what they had been discussing.
"Why are you going along with this plan?" she demanded as she avoided a swaying Baalun. "You cannot mean to support this folly!"
Titus gave a sigh, though she didn't know if that was due to his resignation or a weariness of the going up stairs. "What else would you have us do?"
"Do you really think Vaella is suited for that throne?"
"Very presumptuous of you," Titus replied. "You sit with the girl for two hours and you judge her to be unfit?"
"I spent more time with her than you did," Miru argued.
"Father," Sadog interjected softly, "please don't do this. You know that Miru is right."
Titus turned on Sadog. "Even if I do, what use is saying that to my sister? She is not wrong; Vaella being queen means that Kiera can dismiss Brynden from the small council."
"And then he will just fade into the night?" Sadog's artificial foot slipped on a stone step, only for Miru to grab him as he stumbled. "You said it yourself. He is a dangerous and powerful man. He won't be thwarted by Vaella or her mother."
Titus gave his son a frustrated glare. "Are you speaking as my son or as a man of the Iron Bank?"
"Today, I am both," Sadog replied tersely. "The Iron Bank wants a stable realm, and Vaella will not provide that. The council will see that for themselves too."
"So be it, but I will keep my promise all the same," Titus retorted. "I swore to aid Jena, and that's what I will do. And then I can wash my hands of this and go back home."
He knows she will fail, Jena realised. She exchanged a glance with Sadog, who seemed to share her apperception.
Thanks to Jena, the family had all been given their own guest apartments on one of the highest floors of Maegor's Holdfast; all their belongings awaited them there as well.
After Titus took his leave of them and retired to his own chambers, Miru grabbed Sadog's arm to stop him from doing the same. "You heard what I heard, did you not?"
"Of course I did," Sadog answered, matching her lowered pitch whilst Baalun blundered past them and stood in front of his chamber door, fumbling with his key.
"He knows that it is only a forlorn hope," Miru insisted softly. "So, does he really mean to just speak his piece and then sail back? Is he really going to let Brynden Rivers win? Just like that?"
Sadog gave her a confused look. "What else can he do?"
She had no answer, but it was disconcerting to think that he'd come all this way just to drag himself through slow failure. Still, she could think of no way to react as Sadog bid her farewell. Then, after she took Baalun's key and opened the door for him, Miru went down the hall to her own chambers.
Miru's apartment was smaller than the one which she'd shared with Barba. Or mayhaps that was her own memory playing tricks on her. The bed was certainly soft enough, and her balcony was high enough that it rose above the holdfast's walls. Besides the other buildings of the Red Keep, she could look out at the blue of the distant bay.
First, Miru wrote Lozyn a letter, informing her that she'd arrived safely to the capital. She spoke of what had occurred, which filled up the first page. She was relieved that she did not have to rely on a raven to bring her letter back, so she could write as much as she pleased.
More than ever, she wished that Lozyn could be here, even as she put that sentiment on the second page of parchment. Lozyn had always been fascinated by her accounts of Westeros, and the two of them had sometimes idly talked of paying the Seven Kingdoms a visit. But more than that, Miru wrote about how badly she wanted to hold Lozyn again; after these past few years living with her, she had taken for granted the gift of smelling her, kissing her, listening to her voice.
Overcome with frustrated loneliness, Miru put down her quill, took off her clothes, lay on the bed, and began to pleasure herself as she recalled the sound of Lozyn's voice whispering hoarsely, the warmth of her body against Miru's, the feel of her fingers roughly exploring Miru's womanhood. She tried to replicate Lozyn's touch, her gestures, her forceful thrusts.
A wave of pleasure overcame her, but it was terribly bittersweet; it only seemed to emphasize how far away Lozyn was, how Miru had chosen to leave her behind. What was I thinking? What use am I here? She began to regret her indignation at Titus; they were in much the same situation after all.
After she finished her letter, she got dressed again and made for Leroya's chamber. Her younger sister towered over her as always, swaying on her feet as she rubbed her eyes. It was evident by her bleariness and her half-dressed state that she'd gone to bed to sleep off the wine.
"What is it, Miru?" she asked, stifling a yawn.
Miru held out the parchment wrapped up in a hollow tube made of wood and cheap iron. "When you next go to the docks, can you give this to a ship bound for Braavos? I carved the address along the side."
Leroya nodded as she accepted the tube. "I will."
Miru briefly wondered if she would have to remind Leroya later, but dismissed that suspicion as unworthy. "Thank you."
As Leroya closed the door again, Miru might have made her way back down the hall, only for another door to open.
It was Matthias. He had changed his Dondarrion clothes for garments which were Braavosi in style, and he seemed much recovered from his fun with Leroya and Baalun. He gave a start when he saw Miru. "I was about to find you."
"What for?"
"I want to speak with Lord Redfort," Matthias explained.
"Now?"
"It's not supper yet," Matthias explained. "Better to go now than later, no?"
"I suppose so," Miru agreed. Truthfully, there did not seem to be a good time for this business; the whole notion filled her with a sense of foreboding. It made her all the more determined to accompany him. Mayhaps one of us can find some sort of conclusiveness in this castle.
Together, they went to find a servant or an official who might steer them to the quarters of Lord Redfort.
The journey took them back into the Red Keep, traipsing from one tower to the next on the word of anyone who thought they had a notion of where Lord Redfort was staying. They knocked on a dozen doors, but each one was a false lead. What made it especially irksome was the manner in which they were gawked at.
By the time she'd excused herself to a man-at-arms of Lord Hector Connington, Miru was utterly sick of their fruitless search. However, she did not want to suggest giving up, for each failure only seemed to spur Matthias onward.
The latest bit of directions took them to a tower in the south-western corner of the Red Keep. According to a Targaryen guard, this was where the lords of the Vale had been quartered.
"Which one is it, then?" Miru mused aloud as they left the stairwell onto the eighth floor of the tower.
"Knock on one door, and they'll point us in the right direction," Matthias grumbled wearily. He was especially affected by the journey they'd taken. He paused to wipe sweat from his forehead. Thank goodness he's dressed in dark clothes, Miru thought fleetingly as she knocked upon the nearest chamber door.
"Yes?"
It was a maester who opened it. He was of average height, but that still made him taller than Matthias and Miru alike. He was middle-aged, with grey hair that was cropped very close to his skull. His moustache and beard were also closely trimmed, forming a grey shadow over his jaw, with traces of a darker colour scattered throughout.
He stood in the doorway's shadow, looking at them with some surprise. "Yes?"
There was something about him which deeply unsettled Miru. It was not the same sensation as the one which Brodda Hill or Prince Aerion had inspired, however. This was a new feeling, and she could not place it.
When she did not speak, she heard Matthias step in. "We are looking for House Redfort."
"Lord Gorlim?" The maester pointed over their shoulders. "He is in that apartment."
Miru did not look behind her. She was too busy trying to look at the maester. Unfortunately, the descending sun's light was filling up the window and balcony behind him.
He seemed to look at her in return, but only for a second. Then he gave a respectful nod and closed the door.
"Shall we, then?"
Miru turned to Matthias. "Sorry?"
"The Redforts. Shall we speak to them?" He was puzzled at her confusion, even impatient. Miru did not hold it against him, however; she knew how agitated he was, despite his best efforts to conceal it.
Miru put the maester out of her thoughts. "Do you wish to speak to them, or shall I introduce you?"
Her brother pondered the question for a moment. "I will speak for myself." With that, he resolutely made for the other side of the corridor and knocked upon the door.
Soon, the door swung open and revealed a stocky man wearing the red-and-white of House Redfort. He frowned as he took in the sight of Miru and Matthias. "What's the meaning of this?"
"I wish to speak with Lord Redfort," Matthias replied. "Is he here?"
"That depends," came the brusque answer. "Who wishes to speak to him?"
Matthias faltered only for a second before speaking again. "A kinsman."
Miru shuddered in reaction to those two words. How can such a simple statement feel so complicated to hear?
The man's suspicion gave way to surprise. He closed the door again, but not fully this time. Miru could hear his heavy tread moving away from them, but she could not hear any voices.
Slowly, she put a hand on Matthias' shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. A shaky sigh left his lips as he clasped his shaking hands behind his back. Miru wondered about the man in Redfort colours. Was he a kinsman of Lord Redfort, or just a servant?
The door swung open again, and the Redfort man reappeared. "He does not wish to see you."
Miru could not stop herself. "How dare you? Do you have any idea how far he's come to speak with Lord Redfort?"
"May the gods watch over his return journey," the servant retorted in a cold, maddeningly polite tone.
Fury coursed through Miru's body. She was tempted to spit in this man's face, or slap him, but he slammed the door shut before she could make up her mind.
Miru leaned forward and pounded on the door with her fist. "At least tell us what became of his mother," she yelled. But the door did not open again.
"Damn him," she snapped. "Of all the bloody nerve…" She might have said worse if she didn't see her brother's tears.
He turned away to conceal them, but the first had already gone down both his cheeks. He immediately began walking back towards the stairwell.
They went down the steps that way, neither breaking the silence. Miru knew her brother well enough to know that she should not be the first to speak. Instead, she waited for Matthias to stop walking, as she knew he would.
It was not until they'd gone halfway down the stairwell before Matthias halted and leaned against the cold stone wall. His shoulders began to shake, and his breathing became ragged.
Wordlessly, Miru dropped her knees and wrapped her arms around him, trying to suppress her own tears. Eventually, his own arms slowly rose and held her in turn.
Miru did not know how long they were there, but she only looked up when she heard others approaching. Matthias heard them too, for he went quiet and hastily cuffed at his face. As the voices and footsteps grew louder, they slipped away before they were seen.
"He must have told them I was a dwarf," Matthias finally murmured as they found themselves traipsing across an abandoned courtyard. A cool wintery air caused their breath to become mist.
"You don't know that," Miru protested.
"Oh, don't play the fool," Matthias told her. "All I said was that I was a kinsman. I didn't even give my name. Why else would they turn me away?"
"Mayhaps the Redforts guessed you were a bastard," Miru insisted stubbornly. "Or mayhaps they thought you were an imposter."
"Imposter?" Matthias scowled up at her. "They didn't suspect I was an imposter!"
"Prove it," Miru challenged.
It sounded utterly childish, even to her. Still, it provoked a reluctant grin on her brother's face.
"I suppose that's all I could do," he said with a shrug. "At least now I know."
Miru put a hand on his shoulder. "You give up far too easily."
"What more would you have me do?"
"You could try again. Wait for a chance to make yourself impossible to ignore."
"And how do I do that?"
Miru gave him a playful shove. "Have some bloody patience, for one thing!"
They continued on, meandering in a directionless manner, until they found themselves at the royal gardens. Most of the plants were reduced to carcasses and dry husks between patches of snow which reflected the red sunset. The distant godswood had also shed its leaves.
Miru suddenly thought of Cayn. Where is he? Where has he gone? Is he still alive? She recalled him as she'd last seen him; cold and detached, wearing Bloodraven's colours. He'd never been particularly close to her, but he had been an older brother of sorts. The last time she'd seen him, he hadn't even bid her goodbye as he'd walked away.
"Miru?"
She turned to Matthias. "Yes?"
A curious expression was on his face. "Are you thinking of that maester again?"
Cayn left her mind as she recalled the greybeard. "Did you notice nothing about him, then?"
Her brother's face scrunched in thought. "I wasn't really looking at him, truth be told. Why?"
"He looked familiar," Miru answered. "But I don't know why."
"Did you know any maesters when you were in the Red Keep?"
"Just Quincy," Miru replied. "But that wasn't him."
"Who was he, then?"
"I don't know," Miru answered irritably. "That's the strange part. I don't think I've ever seen him before, but he just… he seemed familiar," she finished lamely.
Matthias shrugged. "As you say, then."