A Vow Without Honor

The Lion and the Wolf

Myra

Snow had fallen across the godswood, blanketing the ground in white and silence. The blood red leaves stood stark against the background, for even in the dead of winter, the heart tree would not shed its leaves. It was made of sterner stuff, much like the men and women who worshipped in its embrace.

Myra sat at the base of its roots, enjoying the crisp scent in the air. How peaceful winter could feel at times, and at others it was a beast with no compare, two extremes with no in between. Perhaps that was why she found it so beautiful.

Small flakes drifted between the gaps in the leaves, gently covering her cloak and dress. She watched their slow journey through the air, the wind caressing their final descent.

It was how her gaze landed on him.

"I thought I might find you here."

Her father sat beside her, Ice in hand. She had always wondered if he believed the godswood to be the only place he could clean it.

"There never have been many places to hide."

Ned smiled. "Perhaps you ought to tell your sister that. Arya has found new ways to vex your mother."

Myra wanted to smile, but found her face so heavy and the act impossible. She watched the boys in the distance as they laughed at their antics. Robb ran with Rickon on his back while Bran chased after him. Her twin tripped on his own legs and fell into the snow with a burst of white, and suddenly the younger brothers had both turned on him, assaulting him with snow and little sticks.

She took a breath.

"You're not here, are you?"

Her father stopped cleaning his sword.

"No, I'm not, but that doesn't make me less real," he replied, turning to her. She could see it now, something off about him, softer perhaps. Her memories could not quite capture his look. "You and your brothers and your sisters have the best parts of me. I'll always be here."

"But it's not the same."

His smile was sad. "No, Myra, it's not. And it never will be."

It sounded like him at least. There was a comfort she could take in that.

They fell silent. Her father resumed his cleaning of the sword while she looked back to the boys. They had quieted some, their mother having followed them outside. She always did know when they were up to no good, and no fear of the godswood was going to stop her then.

She could almost mouth the entire conversation. The same hard words from her mother, the same half-apologies from her brothers. There would be a sigh and then smiles and laughter.

"Is it wrong that I love him?" she asked. "Even after everything?"

Talisa was there, smiling widely as she brushed the snow from Robb's hair. He kissed her sharply while Bran and Rickon made faces.

Her father paused. "Right and wrong are funny things when it comes to matters of the heart. I never understood it, not fully."

Myra felt it then, a small twitch of her lips as she looked at him. His eyes crinkled at the look she was giving him.

"I don't have all the answers. You ought to know that best of all," he continued, placing Ice gently on the root beside him. "How many things did I have to ask your mother over the years? I've lost count. I knew nothing, especially when it came to daughters."