A Vow Without Honor

The Fear

True to his word, Ser Addam had not allowed a soul into Riverrun who did not bear the lion crest. A gaggle of Freys stood on the bridge shouting obscenities at a row of Lannister guards, whose faces were stone and bodies still, but not a single man made a move against them. It seemed their courage only extended to drunken lords and women.

The Strongboar had accompanied them, and upon his booming command of MOVE, the Freys scattered like rats, flocking to the sides of the bridge in order to escape whatever harm might come. Several fell into the moat below.

Myra stared down the soldiers as they passed through their ranks. She looked at their dirty, scowling faces and wondered how many might have been there. Who carried a sword that still bore the blood of Lucas Blackwood? Who had plunged their daggers into Dacey Mormont? Who had taken the Smalljon's head?

These were the sorts of questions that plagued a person to the end of their days.

She remembered clearly what Riverrun had been like before. Refugees from the war were everywhere, clustered with their few belongings in random corners of the castle grounds. Chickens were being chased by small children while the older ones led goats and small cows. Women washed clothes in groups, singing little songs while the men returned from the fields with wood and little creatures they'd hunted. It was hardly the image of a proper lord's castle, but her uncle had looked at its occupants with a soft pride and an even softer smile. He'd cared for each one of them.

There was no evidence of those families now. There were hastily built barricades and piles of weapons taken from those who'd surrendered. A Tully banner had been trampled into the mud, a Stark one torn in half. A group of soldiers stood assembled in the courtyard, helmless but unharmed. No children laughed and no women sang. There was only silence, and the steely gaze of men beholding a traitor.

Myra turned to Edmure, and found him staring at a banner on the ground.

"Where is the Blackfish?" Jaime murmured as Ser Addam approached.

"Escaped," he admitted with a wince. "Ser Kennos is looking for him now, but he has the advantage."

Edmure looked up suddenly, his face smug. "It was the castle you wanted. You never mentioned anything about my uncle."

Jaime sighed, glaring at her uncle, but ultimately decided not to engage him. Instead, he turned to her, leaning in closely. "You're being quite the actor right now."

"I could jump up and down if you'd like," Myra replied, flashing the smallest of smirks. Her husband looked ready to throw himself into the moat with the Freys.

"Please don't. Take your uncle inside. Have him grab whatever he wishes. It will come with us to Casterly Rock. You have my word."

. . .

The interior of Riverrun had not fared much better in the aftermath of the Red Wedding. In order to protect their halls, the servants had taken up arms, their duties belonging to the watch and upkeep of the battlements instead. The lack of their care showed. Mud caked the floors from the travel of soldiers, dust and cobwebs clung thickly to every surface, and general refuse had piled up in random corners and crannies.

Myra walked slowly beside her uncle, watching his face as he looked upon his home again. It seemed to her that he did not recognize it either, and that it had not brought the relief he had been looking for.

They slowly walked through the winding halls, stopping at every threshold and turn. She would watch as Edmure swayed for a moment, mouth opening but no sound ever escaping. On several occasions, Myra found herself on the brink of breaking the silence, but would clamp down on her tongue. It was not her place, and she did not know what would happen if she let those ill-advised words loose.