Miru
The mornings were never complete without a dispute or two amongst the children.
"Mother Miru! Mother Miru!"
She was a little girl of six named Domenica. She had been a child of slaves who had found their freedom in Braavos, but had died after mistakenly drinking bad water. Domenica had been found wandering the streets, half-starved and too frail to weep. After just three months in the orphanage, colour had returned to her cheeks, and her dark brown curls were vibrant and washed. She also gave the title "Mother" to all those women who helped manage the orphanage.
For Miru's part, she had never intended for any of the girls to call her that. It had simply happened, just as it had with little Andrew. Just as Titus had done, Miru had allowed it, neither discouraging it nor making it obligatory.
Miru turned to face her as the dusky girl ran up to her, on the cusp of a tantrum. "What's the matter?"
"Antonya's sitting in my spot!" She gestured wildly towards the garden. Miru saw that the girl called Antonya was sitting in front of the three black spruce trees, along with two of her friends. They were taking turns braiding each other's hair.
"The trees aren't going anywhere," Miru told Domenica. "You can finish drawing them later when they do something else." Seized with an idea, she knelt so that she and Domenica were face-to-face. "If you promise to sit quietly, you can watch me work on my sister's painting."
"I will!" Domenica followed Miru as she went back up to the loft, where she kept her paintings
They were lined up and down the walls, or else leaning against easels. Many were finished, but Miru was waiting for the oil paints to dry so she could apply the varnish. All the girls knew the rules about entering the loft, and Domenica was dutifully cautious, not daring to disturb any of the artwork which ensured that they continued to live beneath Miru's roof.
Miru took her to a portrait which stood ready. Miru took the easel which it rested on and moved it so that it stood beneath an open window. The morning sun revealed the painting to be of a beautiful young woman whose skin was a rich brown colour. Her wavy black hair spilled down past her shoulders, coquettishly concealing the top of her bosom. Miru had painstakingly created a shade of gold for an assortment of jewelry. She wore a sultry purple dress which mirrored the Iron Bank's purple robes. Behind her was the Titan of Braavos, standing like a watchful guardian behind her shoulder, rising above the tempestuous sea. On the other side, the port of Ebonhead arose on the horizon. Miru had tactfully brought the temple of love forward so that it could be seen from the sea.
As Domenica sat in a small chair, Miru showed her how she mixed such ingredients as pine resin and egg white together to create a thin protective layer over her paintings to preserve the artwork.
Perched on a stool, Miru began applying the mixture to the canvas, carefully ensuring that she spread it evenly over her artwork.
"Who is that?"
"This is my sister," Miru explained as she worked.
"Your sister!" Domenica was bewildered, as they always were. "She looks nothing like you, Mother Miru."
"And she is my sister all the same," Miru affirmed. Belakka had wanted a sultry and seductive expression on her face. It had been amusing for Miru to watch Belakka make that face for hours as Miru painted her. "He begged me to be naked in the portrait," Belakka had confided after she'd been allowed to speak again.
"How much would he have needed to pay for that?" Miru had asked her as she'd painted in
"Too much for his wife not to notice," Belakka had quipped, giggling at her own jape. Or at least, Miru hoped that it had been a jape.
After the varnish was finished, Miru turned to Domenica. The girl was fidgeting and growing bored. "You can go back downstairs if you wish," Miru told her.
Domenica hopped off the chair. She was about to make for the staircase when Miru saw her stop in her tracks. Something had caught her attention; Miru lowered her brush and followed her gaze.
During the course of varnishing Belakka's portrait, Miru had opened up several other windows, so that all the other paintings in the loft were visible. One section of the wall was virtually bereft of paintings. Only two were there, and they were larger than any of the others.
"Mother Miru," Domenica asked, even as she pointed a little finger upwards in the air. "Who are they?"
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It had once been a brothel, operating most discreetly in a quarter of the city which did not normally support such establishments. It was eventually revealed that the owners were smuggling slaves into it and treating them as such beneath the eye of the law. "No man, woman, or child in Braavos will ever be a slave, thrall, or bondsman," was carved over the Long Canal, but the brothel had endured for years nonetheless.
When Miru was twenty-eight years old, the brothel was finally exposed for what it was. The owners - revealed to be sordid criminals exiled from Volantis - were publicly scourged and then bloodily put to death. The captive prostitutes were given their freedom, but there was much uncertainty over what to do with the building and property, which had been seized by the city watch.
By that point, Miru had already gained a splendid reputation as an artist, having painted portraits for dozens of keyholders and even for Toko Reyaan himself, to commemorate his fifth year as Sealord. Additionally, Titus had used his status as ambassador to introduce her to more magisters who had influence with the Sealord. It was deemed a fine and fitting thing that the brothel be repurposed to serve as an orphanage for girls, lest they suffer the same fate as those who had suffered within its walls.
Achieving this had been a daunting task for Miru, and more daunting still to manage the day-to-day concerns of such a place. First, the brothel had required extensive cleaning; the conditions were such that Miru had wept for days thinking of what the slaves must have endured. There had also been too many girls to accept, so a system by lots had had to be introduced.
None of it could have been accomplished without her family's help. Sadog had assisted in establishing a trust within the Iron Bank, tied to investment accounts in Miru's name. Her parents had covered much of the initial costs. Belakka had not only become a patron of the orphanage, she'd also persuaded several wealthy Braavosi to make philanthropic gifts of coin and materials. All of Miru's kin had devoted time to refurbishing the building. But one of them had given more than anyone else.
Caris had been a young wetnurse when Miru had first met her; in fact, she was scarcely twelve years older than Miru herself. When Miru and her family had left Westeros, Caris had accompanied them. It had always amazed her why Caris had been so prepared to give up all that she'd known to devote herself to Titus and his three surviving children.
The truth of the matter was that Caris had been like Miru herself; she had been a lowborn orphan with no family left, whose survival had depended on the protection and kindness of others. She had proved a good wetnurse, until she'd managed to catch the attention of Princess Jena Targaryen. She had needed a girl who would be discreet and loyal, who could spend her days with a single bastard child. That was how Caris had come to know Jena's brother, Lord Titus.
Caris had remained with the Dondarrions after Matthias had been weaned, becoming their housekeeper instead. She had doted on all the children, even when they made her and their parents' heads spin with their antics.
It had been Caris who had first suggested to Miru what she could do with that brothel. She had left the Dondarrion estate and moved into the new building with Miru to assist her permanently. She had been a tireless source of advice, even as she herself had grown wearier with age.
She had given all to this cause, including her life. During the third year of the orphanage's existence, an especially strong sickness had struck the children and those who cared for them. Most had survived, but Caris had succumbed.
In honour of all that she'd given, Miru had renamed the orphanage; the Mother Caris Foundling Home.
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"That is Mother Caris," Miru explained to Domenica. "Her portrait will be hung up downstairs soon."
Miru had spent days working on the painting. She had not been satisfied until Caris seemed to be breathing where she sat. A benevolent smile was on her face, as there so often had been when she was alive. Her hazel eyes were flecked with gold, her cheeks were plump and rosy, and her hair was done up in a strict style which evoked the septas of Westeros. Caris, like Sadog, had always continued her worship of the Seven. She and Sadog had often gone to the Sept-Beyond-The-Sea. Miru had avoided it, having abandoned all faith in any gods, but she did go for Caris' sake after she had passed, helping her brother to light candles before the gods' statues in Caris' memory.
Domenica turned to the other portrait. "Who is that, then?"
Miru sighed. "That is another one of my sisters."
She had already lost count of how many paintings she'd made of Barba. She'd driven Sadog mad trying to get his opinion on whether she was properly capturing what Barba had looked like.
Her own recollections were fading. When she recalled Barba, she couldn't be sure if she was picturing the girl who'd lived rather than one of the renditions which she'd made throughout her life.
Like Caris, Barba was smiling in her picture. Unlike Caris, she was a mischievous girl of twelve. Miru had agonized over how to portray her. She'd painted Barba with a sad expression, a reproachful one, a defiant one, and half a dozen others. This final portrait captured Barba at her best, Miru thought. This was how her sister had been in her fondest memories of King's Landing.
Miru turned away to look out the nearest window. By chance, it happened to look out to the garden. She saw that Antonya and her friends were no longer sitting in front of the black spruce trees.
After Miru told as much to Domenica, the girl dashed off to continue her own drawing. That left Miru to finish varnishing Belakka's portrait. When she finished, she stepped back and looked it over.
"It's beautiful," a reassuring voice called out.
"You always say that," Miru said reflexively, even as she turned around to the speaker.
Lozyn stood in the doorway at the top of the stairs. Seven years younger than Miru, Lozyn's skin was the colour of bright copper. She was of a similar height to Miru. She had a lean build, a long face, black almond-shaped eyes, and thick black hair which she kept in a loose bob.
She leered at Miru in response to her rebuke. "You don't trust my judgment?"
Miru smiled and planted a soft kiss on Lozyn's lips. "I'm working up to trusting it."
Lozyn gave an exaggerated reaction of mock offense, but her burst of laughter undermined the effect.
Lozyn's father had been a powerful Dothraki khal named Zhamo. According to accounts she'd heard, Zhamo had been welcomed and hosted by the city of Norvos. Whilst he was there, he'd also enjoyed the favours of a young slave named Magdolna. He had not taken her with him, and he'd been slain later that year whilst warring against another khal. Eventually, Magdolna had made her own escape from slavery, until she'd become a whore in Pentos. Lozyn had grown up in brothels, which was where she'd learned a great deal about healing, anatomy, and health. All of that served her well when she came to Braavos and began anew as a young midwife. Such was her skill that she'd been called upon to help deliver the difficult birth of Chatali's third child. That was how she'd first encountered Miru.
Miru had offered to paint Lozyn's portrait in gratitude. At the time, she hadn't been willing to admit, even to herself, that she wanted to see Lozyn again. When she'd come for a third day of sitting, Miru couldn't deny her feelings, and she'd carefully tested the waters to see if Lozyn reciprocated those feelings.
She might have once been terrified to make such a venture, but that had ended with her education in the temple of love on Ebonhead. Her parents had sent her there when she was fifteen, in order to complete her education.
Only whilst she was serving in the temple did she learn to truly embrace her body, ravaged by fire as it had been. Priests and priestesses of the temple had gently coaxed her to discover that she was beautiful, both within and without, and that she was as deserving of love as anyone.
It had astonished Miru to realise that she was in love with Lozyn, but it had been far more shocking to discover that Lozyn loved her too. Even now, after everything she'd gone through, and all the happiness she'd discovered in her life, she still couldn't help but doubt that it was real.
They might have continued to kiss, and do more than that, but they were interrupted by Ryllia, one of the women who served the orphanage. "Miru! Your brother is here!"
Surprised, Miru descended from the loft at once, followed by Lozyn.
Matthias awaited her at the bottom of the stairs. His red-gold hair was newly cut to a short length. His beard, which was more red than gold, had also been immaculately trimmed.
Miru knelt so that she could look him in the eye when they embraced. Out of courtesy, Lozyn did the same.
"You look wonderful," Miru told him enthusiastically as she sat on the floor.
"As do you," Matthias answered softly.
Miru did not like his tone. "Has something happened?"
"Father is going back to Westeros," said Matthias.
Miru was astonished as he told her about the visit to the Sealord's palace, and the letter from Jena.
"He told me this morning, whilst we had our trimming," Matthias concluded.
Miru wanted to speak, but she held her tongue as a small group of the girls ran up to them. They greeted Matthias warmly, as he was a regular visitor, to the point that some of the girls even called him "Uncle Matthias."
Miru shot Lozyn a look, who understood her meaning at once. Her lover stood up and loudly called for the girls' attention, offering to take them to the market.
Meanwhile, Miru and Matthias slipped out of the orphanage and went to the nearby canal. There was a quiet place between two large manses where there were a number of stones by the water's edge. They'd often found such places to practice stone-skipping together. Even now, at thirty-three years of age, Miru still took joy in their fierce competitions to see who could skip stones the furthest.
As she launched a smooth stone across the water, there was a sinking feeling in Miru's stomach when she tried to imagine Titus going back to the Seven Kingdoms. She would never forget that terrible day when he'd returned from the Vulture Hunt. There had been a grimness to him before, but the hunt seemed to have broken him. It wasn't until he'd spent months in Ebonhead that he'd seemed to recover himself.
She also recalled Princess Jena. She had been even more broken than her brother. Barba had once pointed out that she was a miserable wine sot. What must she be like now? After her husband and children gone?
"That was cruel of the Iron Bank," Matthias observed. "Using Sadog like that?"
"He is not entirely innocent," Miru remarked sadly. "He was always mindful of opportunities. Why else would he thrive at the Iron Bank?"
Matthias did not answer. When Miru turned to look at him, he was focusing on his next stone, looking disquieted.
"You're not telling me something," she observed gently.
After another moment of silence, Matthias surrendered to her curious stare. "I'm going with Father."
Miru gave a start. "But why?"
Matthias looked discomfited. "Because I want to go."
"Did Father ask you?"
"On the contrary. I asked him."
"But what about your acting?"
"What acting?"
Miru was dismayed at the shame on Matthias' face, and how angrily he spoke those two words. She had been livid by how his performance had been mocked by the Blue Lantern's audience, and she'd desperately hoped that he would not allow it to discourage him.
"You cannot dismiss your talent like that," she protested.
"It was foolhardy," Matthias interjected. The sour expression on his face made Miru wonder if he blamed her for all the encouragement she'd given him. "I should have known what I was getting into… I'll not make that mistake again."
"Matthias, please don't say that," Miru implored him. "You know what Father would say to that."
Matthias rolled his eyes and sighed impatiently. "He already said it when I told him. 'If you change who you are, they win', just as he's been saying all my bloody life. But what does that even mean? What does it matter? I can't change this, so they win either way!" He did not clarify what he meant by 'this', but he didn't have to.
"That is what you are," Miru pointed out, "not who you are."
Matthias said nothing to that. He simply bent over and picked up another rock. After it left his hand, it skimmed the surface of the canal. Miru counted at twelve skips before she lost sight of it. She recalled how thrilled she'd been as a girl to see her late brother - for whom Matthias was named - skip a stone six times across the pond by Crakehall castle.
Her reminiscence was halted when she looked back at her living brother. There was something about his demeanour which made her suspicious. "You still aren't telling me something."
Matthias sighed. "Must I tell you everything?"
"No," Miru replied, "but I'm asking you."
"Mayhaps you just don't want to try and outdo twelve skips," Matthias observed snidely.
"Oho," Miru exclaimed. "Is that what we're doing?" It didn't take her long to find a smooth, flat stone. "If I beat your count, will you tell me the truth of why you're going?"
Matthias grimaced, but not before the corners of his mouth threatened to curl upwards. "Are we still children?"
"You're the one bragging about twelve skips."
"Fine," Matthias answered grudgingly, folding his arms. "Go on, then."
The stone leapt from her hand with all the ease of practice. She cast it not directly from her, but at an angle so that they could count all the skips.
After the fourteenth, it struck a barge which was being rowed past them.
Miru resisted the urge to gloat as she turned to Matthias once more. "I'm waiting."
"I want to see Westeros for myself," Matthias answered. "I want to be there to help Father if he needs it. And," he hesitated for a moment. "Promise me that this stays between us."
"I swear it," Miru promised, kneeling before him and holding his hands in her own. She had always done this whenever he confided in her, and she had never broken her word yet.
Matthias shuddered, then spoke more softly than he already had. "If there is to be a council of lords, mayhaps the Redforts will be there."
Miru did not know what to say to that. Matthias' mother had been a woman of House Redfort. She had birthed him out of wedlock, and the shame of it was such that the Redforts had washed their hands and delivered Matthias to Titus' keeping.
That was the gist of what Miru knew, and what Matthias knew, for that matter. Miru suspected that there had been more to the story, but she had never bothered to pry further. It was certainly plausible that a noble house from the Vale might be too proud for bastard children, and it was equally plausible that Titus had not wished to marry Matthias' mother - it had been months before Titus had admitted to the children that he loved Bellaria, and not until after she became pregnant with Leroya that they'd gotten married.
"What will you do? How will you approach the Redforts without Father finding out?"
"I will find a way," Matthias replied. He looked at her with sudden gratitude. "Forgive me, but I thought you might have taken offense."
"Offense?" Miru gaped at her brother. "Whatever for?"
Matthias shrugged; his face reddened and his voice became softer with shame. "It's just… Bellaria is our mother, I know that, I would never dispute that. But I just want the truth of it. And if the woman who birthed me is still alive…"
Miru put a hand on Matthias' cheek, then leaned forward and kissed his forehead. "There is no shame in such a quest. Bellaria would never be insulted by that."
"All the same," Mattthias replied, "I do not want to take that risk. She does not deserve that."
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After Matthias had gone on his way, Miru went back to the loft so she could varnish more paintings.
Other portraits followed Belakka's. There was Zilia Lorydan, a wealthy keyholder; Azaghalle, a high priestess of the Temple of Moonsingers; Gustino Barberigo, who was second-in-command of the Arsenal of Braavos. The portraits varied in size and detail, depending on the commission they were paying her.
As the day wore on, Miru could not get through varnishing a single portrait without her pausing to look up at Barba. Matthias' wish for resolution echoed in her head as she stared at her lost sister.
Ever since Barba's disappearance, not a month has gone by that Miru didn't wonder where she'd gone. She had agonized over why Barba had left, whether she was still alive.
Barba haunted her dreams, too. She recalled happy moments, she imagined seeing her again and speaking to her about all that she'd missed. But even in these fanciful imaginations, Barba never told her what had become of her.
Several times during the day, Lozyn came up to the loft with water or food, reminding Miru to look after herself as she worked. When the sun was beginning to set, Lozyn returned once more.
"Supper's almost ready, if you want to join us for it." It was a suggestion, not a reproach.
"That's a good idea," Miru murmured. She looked at the new row of varnished portraits. Each one had a scrap of parchment attached to it.
Those scraps caught Lozyn's attention. "What are those?"
"I wrote down the names of the commissioners," Miru explained, "and their addresses."
Lozyn frowned. "You know those already, do you not?"
Miru sighed. "I have something to tell you."
Thus, they sat together beneath Barba and Caris' portraits. Miru told Lozyn about Titus and Matthias planning to return to Westeros, and concluded with a statement that she'd agonized all day over. "I want to go back with them."
Lozyn stared. "How long will you be away?"
"I don't know," Miru admitted. "But I cannot stay here whilst my father and brother go back."
Hurt and confusion were plainly written on Lozyn's visage. "What of us, then? What will we do without you?"
"I'll arrange for funds," Miru explained. "Sadog or Chatali can arrange for a loan…"
"I wasn't asking about coin," Lozyn interjected heatedly. Perhaps it was some inherited trait from her father's people, but Lozyn had always had a Dothraki-like disdain for commerce. Miru, for her part, sympathised with such a sentiment, but it meant that she had to be the more practical-minded one.
"Lozyn, please don't despise me," Miru begged. "It is not an easy decision!"
"Don't put words in my mouth," Lozyn countered scornfully. "I said nothing about despise! But you are leaving us behind!"
"Not for long," Miru urged. "I will return as soon as the matters are finished in King's Landing."
"Will you? Or will you give your life to finding Barba?"
Miru flinched, looking away from Lozyn's glare. "I might find out something," she whispered.
"After all these years?" Lozyn shook her head. "You must let this go."
"It is not just about her," Miru insisted. "Matthias needs me. Father needs me too."
The anger faded from Lozyn's face, replaced by dismay as she realised Miru was resolute. "I need you."
Miru wept then. She held Lozyn in a tight embrace, wracked with guilt over her decision. Still, she would not rescind or yield. "We have both lost people, Lozyn," Miru pleaded. "If you could learn more about your family, would you not take that chance?"
Lozyn stiffened, but she said nothing for a moment. Miru suddenly dreaded that she'd said the wrong thing, so she broke off the embrace to look her lover in the face again.
The younger woman was weeping too. "If I had done that," she answered hoarsely, "I would never have come west. I would have gone into the Dothraki Sea and died there."
She stood up and turned her back on Miru. She was about to go down the stairs when Miru, seized with anxiety, called to her. "Lozyn, please! What if this is our last night together?"
Lozyn froze beneath the doorway. Miru, who had stood up to pursue Lozyn, hesitated as she pondered her own outburst. She hadn't meant to say those words; they'd simply tumbled out of her, revealing far more of her own fears than she'd intended to show.
When Lozyn spoke again, she did so in a harsh whisper whilst keeping her face turned away. "How can you make such a cruel prediction?"
Miru ran after her and put her arms around her waist. "Please," she begged. "If there was a chance that I might find my sister again, that I might find out what happened to her, that I might be of some help to my family when they go back… I must take that chance! If I take it now, I will come back and put it all behind me! I swear it!"
Lozyn's form was trembling, and her breathing was ragged, but she said nothing.
"Forgive me," Miru whispered, feeling utterly wretched.
Slowly, Lozyn's hands clasped Miru's own. "When will you go?"
"I don't know yet," Miru admitted. "I need to tell Father that I'm going. Then I will need to prepare."
Lozyn nodded. "Don't tell me the day of your departure. Leave without a word. Write to me when you reach Westeros, so I know you made it safely."
Miru wept harder to hear the agony in Lozyn's voice, and to feel Lozyn's fingers gripping her hands. "I will."