Ned
Had he known how much trouble being Hand of the King would become before he even reached King's Landing, he would have stayed in the North.
He found himself storming into the local keep the caravan had taken refuge in for the last few days, his daughter Myra and Jory in tow. For four days, they had searched the nearby forests relentlessly, looking for Arya after an apparent incident with the young prince, Joffrey. The boy had apparently been bitten by her direwolf, but he had heard no more on it, and Sansa was not about to speak of it.
Now his youngest girl had finally been found...and immediately sent before the Queen, who had in turn brought her before Robert, all before informing him. It made his blood boil, his daughter being treated as some criminal. Despite whatever may have transpired at the river, she was the daughter of a lord and deserved better treatment than this.
"Father, what could the Queen possibly want with Arya?" Myra asked as they approached the door to the keep's great hall. Even from outside, he could hear the drone of men whispering gossip and feel the likelihood of a bad ending. "She can't mean to make an example of her. She's a child."
That's precisely what she means to do.
He would never say it aloud, even the thought felt treasonous, but he did not have to. Myra was adept at reading most anyone, him included. He could see the revelation dawn on her face, her skin paling slightly as she glanced over at Jory. The captain of the guard shook his head, his eyes dark.
They entered the room and all fell silent, guards, both Stark and Lannister alike, watching their every move. At the center of the gathering, Robert sat in the lord's seat, Cersei and Joffrey standing beside him, and in front of him, a small, shaking form in the shape of his daughter. She bolted for him, mumbling sorries over and over as they embraced one another. He passed her off to Myra, who took Arya by the shoulders and held her close.
"What is the meaning of this? Why was my daughter not brought to me at once?"
Robert had the decency to look somewhat ashamed, at least as far as his pride would let him go, but Cersei only held the statement in contempt.
"How dare you speak to your King in that manner."
"Quiet woman!" Despite the situation, Ned felt a muscle in his jaw twitch at the way his friend addressed his wife. "Sorry, Ned, I never meant to frighten the girl, but we need to get this business done quickly."
"Your girl and that butcher's boy attack my son," the Queen continued, her eyes boring holes into Arya. "That animal of hers nearly tore his arm off."
Given the state of the bandages on Joffrey, Ned doubted that very much, but he said nothing. Surely Robert would have noticed.
"That's not true!" Arya countered, stepping forward despite Myra's grip on her. "She just bit him a little. He was hurting Micah."
Others take him, his daughter was not helping.
"Joff told us what happened. You and that boy beat him with clubs while you set your wolf on him."
"That's not what happened!"
Joffrey stepped forward. "Yes it is. They all attacked me and she threw my sword in the river."
"Liar!"
"Shut up!"
"Enough!" Robert shouted, slamming his fist on the arm of the chair. Myra quickly gathered Arya back up, whispering something in her ear. "He tells me one thing. She tells me another. Seven hells, what am I to make of this? Where's your other daughter, Ned?"
"In bed, asleep," he offered. Sansa would barely speak to him or Myra. Being dragged in front of the King would only make her retreat further into herself.
The Queen smiled. "She's not. Sansa, come here, darling."
Now his blood ran cold. In the back of the room, soldiers began to part as a familiar head of red hair passed between them. And there Sansa was, dressed as though she had never gone to bed, with the same look of guilt she would give her mother when caught at something.
This was wrong. It should have been done in private, not amongst all the soldiers. They had no need to see familial quarrels. But the Queen had seen to it that everyone knew, no matter how embarrassing the incident was.
Robert, to his credit, did not look particularly pleased either, but that may have been his desire to get everything done and over with showing.
"Now, child, tell me what happened," he started. "Tell it all and tell it true. It's a great crime to lie to a king."
The room fell silent as all eyes landed on Sansa. She glanced around uncertainly before mumbling, "I don't know. I don't remember. Everything happened so fast. I didn't see."
"Liar!" Arya shouted. Her attempts to physically assault her sister were held at bay by Myra, who had snaked her arms around the young girl's chest and was currently holding her off the ground, though just barely. Arya was flailing like some wild creature, kicking and swiping and practically spitting. "Liar! Liar! Liar!"
"Arya, enough!" Myra hissed, managing to get some form of control over her little sister.
Cersei appeared entertained. "She's as wild as that animal of hers. I want her punished."
Robert looked at his wife as though she were crazy. "What would you have me do, whip her through the streets? Damn it, children fight, it's over."
"Joffrey will bear this scars for the rest of his life."
"You let that little girl disarm you." There were snickers in the background. "Ned, see to it that your daughter's disciplined. I'll do the same with my son."
Ned nodded, happy that cooler heads had prevailed, and strangely surprised that Robert was that person. "As you will, Your Grace."
"And what of the direwolf?" The Queen asked, interrupting the small moment of relief. "What of the beast that savaged your son?"
Robert sighed. "I forgot about the damned wolf."
One of the red cloaks came forward. "We found no trace of the direwolf, Your Grace."
"No? So be it."
The Queen was not done. "We have other wolves."
Ned heard an intake of breath. Though Sansa had yet to make the connection, Myra knew immediately what Cersei spoke of. He could see her grow pale even in the dark lighting of the hall.
"Wolves that have done nothing wrong, My Queen." Myra spoke, her grip loosening on Arya.
"Yet." Cersei centered her gaze on his eldest. "They come from the same ilk. Surely, you cannot expect them to remain obedient to you forever."
Myra had nothing to say in reply, but Ned could see the muscle in her jaw twitch. This was one of those few moments when he could truly see his sister in her, when her rare anger led to a defiant glow in her dark eyes.
"Much as I hate to say it, the Queen's right," Robert said, suddenly appearing at his daughter's side. "A direwolf is no pet. Get a dog. It'll make you happier."
He began to walk toward the door, the crowd silently parting for their King. Ned's daughters all watched, the same look of sadness and fear in their eyes.
"He doesn't mean Lady, does he?" Sansa mumbled. His heart broke for her then. Torn between her family and her future, and now her direwolf may face death. He would ask one last time, but if Robert ordered him, there was nothing he could do. In this terrible world, not even the love of one's children could supersede the orders of the King.
"Father?" Myra asked, looking to him to offer some argument, but he shook his head. There was none to be had. His daughter let go of Arya completely then, and trailed after Robert. "Your Grace!"
Robert turned to her. From there, it looked like history playing out. With his daughter's back to him, Ned might have thought it was Lyanna asking for him to change his mind, although she would probably have demanded it.
"Your Grace, I beg of you, spare the wolves."
"And why should he?" Cersei called from her back, anger evident.
Myra glanced back briefly, but her focus was on the King. "Would you kill a man for the crimes of his brother?"
The Queen persisted. "Are you honestly trying to compare wolves to men?"
"I am comparing injustices!" His daughter shouted without turning, and fell to her knees before Robert. "Your Grace, please, reconsider."
Ned watched the face of his friend, and he could see the internal struggle.
"And what would you have me do, girl?"
"Wild animals belong to the wild, so that is what we'll do. Spare them and we'll drive them from the caravan." Myra paused, glancing his way before turning back to Robert. "Your Grace, don't ask us to butcher them. They are the symbol of our house, which have only loved and trusted us since we found them. Don't ask us to betray that trust."
Robert was silent for a long while, thinking. He never knew his friend to be quiet for long periods of time. He was a man of action, charging forward without thought of the consequences. Subtlety and patience were for weaker men. But here, he paused, looking down at his daughter with a strange look in his eyes.
Not for the first time did Ned wonder if bringing her with was a poor decision on his part.
The King nodded. "The wolves leave tonight."
Cersei stepped forward. "You cannot be serious. These creatures harmed your son and if you won't punish anyone for what has happened to your blood, then-"
"I have made my decision, woman!" The room, once quiet, felt ever more still after Robert's booming voice ceased its echo. "Don't you dare question it."
Robert left then, leaving Myra smiling happily on the floor while dozens of soldiers immediately struck up conversations. Ned chanced a look at the Queen then. Her face was fury and her eyes were for no one but his daughter.
He went to Myra then, enclosing her shoulders in his hands as she stood, and gave her the only advice he deemed fit for such company.
Myra
You must not do that again, no matter what good it may bring about.
Her father's words after that night in the keep had echoed through her mind for nearly a week. She had avoided the King since then, and everyone else really, other than her family. It seemed for the best. Even without her father's words, she knew that she had stoked a fire in the Queen, one that was not likely to be put out soon.
She had surprised herself that night, standing before the King as she had. Her words would have been nothing, she knew, if it were not for the face that she wore. King Robert was not the sort of man to be moved from a decision once it had been made, but Myra remembered the looks he gave her and the time they had spent together. She thought to try; she did not expect for it to work out as well as it did.
You must not do that again, no matter what good it may bring about.
Her father knew now, though perhaps he had suspected before, that King Robert's regard for her was overly fond. He would not have her risking herself or tarnishing her name, though Myra hardly cared about that. She could not regret her actions, not after seeing the look of relief on Sansa's face. Though they both had to be parted with their direwolves, and spent the night consoling one another through tears, knowing that they were alive somewhere in the woods brought some comfort. Perhaps they would even return home to Winterfell. Brenna could watch over Robb in her stead. But Myra was growing to accept the hard truth: her direwolf was never to be seen again.
However fortunate their wolves had been, not everyone could be spared that night.
She had held Sansa close, not wanting her to see the image of the dead butcher's boy on the Hound's mount. The next morning, she had held Arya as they helped the butcher's family bury the boy. With her father's permission, she had offered money or some other kind of assistance, but they had declined. After all, what amount of gold could be worth a child's life? Still, she had left a small bag on the windowsill of their humble home. Perhaps one day they would see it.
You must not do that again, no matter what good it may bring about.
Myra had promised her father, a silent nod in a room full of prying eyes, but could an oath made in uncertainty truly count? If she could make Robert listen to a dead woman to spare a boy's life, surely it was worth it. Why else would the gods have cursed her with this face, if not to make some use of it?
She sighed, hoping to find some reprieve when they reached King's Landing, and knowing full well it would be the exact opposite.
With Arya seated to her left and Sansa to her right, Myra was surprised by how quiet their ride on the wagon had been on the last leg of their journey. She had suspected, especially after the direwolf incident, that the girl's would be at each other's throats. Instead, they tolerated one another in silence, perhaps too angry even for words. She knew that would run out soon enough.
A bump in the road jostled Myra out of her thoughts. She glanced up to a sight that took her breath away.
The Kingsroad had given way to a cliff, dropping hundreds of feet to reveal the endless city of King's Landing. Buildings upon buildings stretched across the countryside, towered over by two greater structures. One she recognized as the Great Sept of Baelor, with its seven towers rising upward to meet the sky. The other, standing in the distance and stretching into the sea, was the Red Keep. Both dwarfed her home by far, and though she was far above them on the cliff, she could still feel their dominating presence.
"We're going to get lost in there," she heard Arya mumble from beside her.
Sansa scoffed. "Maybe you will, going to all the places Father tells you to stay away from."
"Least I don't stay in my room all day pretending I'm too good for anything outside it."
Myra rolled her eyes, ignoring her younger sisters' bickering as her gaze landed on their father. He sat on his mount, eyes staring at the Red Keep, reflecting emotion too powerful for even him to hide. This place had been the beginning of the end for so many things. Not for the first time did Myra wonder how he had been convinced to return.
"It is quite the sight, isn't it, Lady Myra?" Jory asked as he rode up beside the wagon.
Myra nodded, though her eyes never left her father, or King Robert as he joined him and spoke solemn words, no doubt of the past.
"Quite."
Two days had passed, and the Tower of the Hand was at least starting to resemble something of the North. Though Vayon Poole and his family had accompanied them to King's Landing, Myra took it upon herself to see to the outfitting of their chambers. It had proven to be a more difficult task than she had thought. The room layouts were so different from those back home, and so much more open. The Red Keep was built as a place accustomed to many more days in relative heat, unlike that of Winterfell. Even in the dead of summer, snow was not unheard of.
But here, Myra mused, so many windows were left open. Some were not even built to shut, leaving a build up of leaves and other wild things. She had to chase several birds from Arya's room before her sister decided to try her sword on them. How she had managed to sneak a sword out of Winterfell, Myra had no idea, though she had her suspicions.
It was as she finished unpacking her own things that Myra realized she would have been better off bringing none of it at all. Her clothes were made of material far too thick for the heat of the South, and the cuts, while considered quite normal in the North, apparently left her looking prudish in King's Landing, if the looks of the other highborn ladies told her anything. The ladies here left their arms bare, or their shoulders, or even parts of their midriffs. Septa Mordane had been properly scandalized, and though Myra could not think of herself capable of wearing something of that nature without having a permanent flush on her face, she did admire the obvious cooling effect such outfits would offer.
For the time being, Myra settled with the thinnest dress she owned until more could be made up. It was a dark green, which really did not help in the unending sunlight of King's Landing, with long sleeves that had slits up to well past her elbows. She supposed that was the closest she would get to a sleeveless ensemble for the time being. Still, it helped, along with the breeze drifting in from the sea.
She stood in the gardens (though the word felt entirely too small to describe such a place) of the Red Keep, in an alcove facing the Narrow Sea. And while the sprawling landscape with its layered terraces and exotic flora was truly fascinating, it was the unending shimmer of blue and green that had captured her attention. It made her think of the promise Domeric made her once, and wonder if the rolling waves of the Shivering Sea were just as beautiful.
"I promise you can look away," a voice spoke from behind, startling Myra from her reverie. She turned to face a young man, clad in fancy linens and leathers, as all highborns did, with a stag pinned to his collar. "I've been near the sea most of my life. It's not going anywhere anytime soon."
Myra nodded in greeting. "Lord Renly."
He strode forward, hands behind his back, smile infectious. "We're all lords and ladies here, Lady Myra. Renly will do just fine."
"Well, forgive me, Renly, if I don't take your advice," Myra replied, turning back to the view. "For so long, I've wondered what the sea looked like, and now that I'm here, I can scarcely believe what my eyes tell me."
His chuckle was deep, reminding her very much of his older brother. "Understandable. Sometimes I forget that Winterfell is far from everything, the sea included."
Myra hummed a reply, eyes focused on the sea but mind drifting back to her home. She had always known Winterfell was isolated, but never realized the extent. Being in King's Landing felt like somewhere other than Westeros or perhaps a different time. How both these worlds could exist at once was amazing to her.
Something red entered the edge of her vision.
She glanced down to an out held rose.
"I'm afraid it is no blue winter rose, but the climate of the South is hardly made for them."
Myra took the delicate offering, turning it over in her hand, watching the petals catch the light. She had never been given a token before, at least, not by anyone freely. Domeric had gifted her things, it was true, but he was betrothed to her. She supposed this was normal for people in the South, the concept of being wooed and courting.
Was she being courted?
Her silence must have been longer than she thought, for she heard Renly clear his throat. "I apologize. I was being presumptuous. I know your aunt, Lyanna, enjoyed those roses; I thought you might as well."
She smiled softly. "Because I look like her?"
To his credit, Renly Baratheon actually paled.
"I...no, I thought...that...I..." he paused then, regaining his composure and smile. "I'm afraid I've been caught in a rather impossible place."
Myra turned away from the sea, facing the young lord fully. He was shorter than many others she had met and did not possess the overbearing quality of his older brother, but there was a niceness to him, a genuine happiness that made him appear far kinder than many other lords in comparison.
Her smile grew. "Indeed you have."
"If it helps," he started, eyes full of apology, "I know what it is like."
He would, Myra thought to herself. While she did not know King Robert in his youth, she could see the similarities between the two, and had heard often enough how many would mistake Renly for a younger version of his brother. How strange they looked together. It must have been a step back in time to behold them talking, to an age when a Targaryen sat on the throne.
"It does, actually," Myra admitted, twirling the rose in her hands. "But you've done nothing wrong, I promise. I suppose I was merely teasing you."
His smile returned, along with his chuckle. "I'd heard you Starks had some sense of humor hidden in you, if only at the expense of others."
"Is there any other kind?"
"None that matter." Renly stepped back, offering his arm. "Would my lady care to join me for a walk? We can walk in view of the sea, if it pleases you."
"There's no need," Myra replied, taking his arm. "As you said, it will still be there."
They walked together in amenable silence for some time, nodding to other highborn youths who were taking advantage of the beautiful day. More than once, Myra glanced behind overgrown plants into little corners where lovers snuck in more than what was considered proper. It was a romantic place, the kind Sansa always dreamed of, not the North, where young boys and girls usually ran to the stables. There was something so right about the wrong things they did. It confused her.
"I take it you've heard of the tournament in your father's honor?" Renly asked, gaining her attention.
"More than once, I'm afraid." Myra looked up to her companion. "He's not exactly thrilled."
"No offense to Lord Stark, but does anything thrill the man?"
Myra could not help herself. She laughed, and Renly joined in soon after. It was perhaps the first stress free moment since everything began.
"Perhaps, but he has yet to show me." Myra trailed off, taking in their surroundings once more. "This place has done so much to him."
"Yes, it has, to all of us I think."
They let the topic go, walking along in a comfortable, albeit somber silence. As the sun began to set, Renly returned Myra to the Tower of the Hand and to her very curious younger sisters, who could not help but notice the flower she carried.