A Vow Without Honor

The Desperation

So, it was up to her to fix their mistakes.

Again.

Some days she wished she'd been an only child.

"By the old gods and the new, Robb, if you let this get infected, I'm letting your arm fall off." Myra held her hand against the wound, motioning the other at Jon. "Grab me something from my dresser. Anything."

Her poor brother made no such movement, having gone suddenly still. She couldn't recall him having ever looked so uncomfortable, to include the half dozen times she had seen her mother berating him over the years for minor infractions. Those he had taken in stride, but the idea of rifling through her garments? Perish the thought.

"For gods' sake, Jon, don't look if you don't want to," Myra said, sighing in frustration. "Close your eyes and toss the damned thing at me."

Jon scowled, but complied, tossing the first thing his hand grabbed at her. Though he kept his eyes fully open, his gaze had landed on everything but the garment.

Taking a moment, because a woman rudely woken felt no pity, Myra shook the cloth in his direction. "It's one of your old shirts, you ninny."

Robb's chuckle at their brother's discomfort quickly turned into a hiss as Myra poked at the wound again.

"Take your shirt off," she commanded, standing. While her twin struggled out of his tunic, Myra picked through her sewing things. Calm she may have appeared, but her hands fumbled with the jumble of thread and needles in her basket. Which would work best, she wondered? Which would break? Which would fray? Which would be the easiest to cut out?

There were so many questions, and she did not have the answers.

A hand covered hers, squeezing gently.

"You don't have to do this," Jon whispered.

Myra shook her head. "Of course I do."

Making her decision, she went back to Robb. She grabbed the shirt Jon had given her and soaked it in her water basin.

"Put your arm on my desk."

Robb did as he was told, gingerly holding the limb out. Myra began to wash the wound with the cloth, cleaning off bits of blood that had already dried, but the cut still bled quickly. This would not be clean.

"If you have something to drink, Brother, now would be a good time to take advantage of it."

While Robb drank rapidly from a skin Jon had seemingly produced from nowhere, Myra thread her needle and placed the tip over the candle.

"Get him a belt too," she whispered, watching the flames curl around the tiny bit of metal. "No point in sneaking around if Robb's just going to wake Mother and Father."

Her twin opened his mouth, offended, but Jon produced his weapons belt, shaking his head.

"Best not to question her now, Brother."

Eyes rolling, Robb sighed and bit down on the leather, lips twisting in slight revulsion at the taste.

Served him right.

Myra removed the needle, and positioned herself over Robb's arm, moving the candle around for the best light. She paused then, tip hovering just above her brother's skin, watching as blood seeped out of his wound. Her hand was trembling, as was her breath.