The Flower Garden

Written by Susie
She couldn’t help but feel a small pang of guilt as she quietly slipped away, but Myria needed the reprieve. They had been Wards at Summerhall for almost a year now, and whilst most of the others had settled in; some, like little Joy Mallister, were still prone to fits of tears. So as Lyra Crane comforted Joy for the third time this morning, Myria took her scraps of paper, quill and ink, and snuck out into the gardens of Summerhall.

It was a beautiful day, the sun shone high and bright in the sky, a cool breeze kept the temperature from becoming too overwhelming. For all the horrible things that she had imagined on her long journey to Summerhall, she’d never expected the tranquility of the flower gardens. What use are flowers to dragons? She had thought. But now in her precious stolen moment to herself, she smiled as she leant down to smell the fragrance of the blooms.

A hint of blue caught her eye. Beneath the exotic flowers, nestled in the soil, a spray Forget-Me-Nots. A wave of homesickness, of loneliness, of grief, hit her as she reached for the small blue petals. She plucked a single flower and held it in a closed hand as she thought of her loved ones, those far away, and those taken by the Stranger. In her silent prayer, she did not notice the shadow that loomed over her.

“Myria?” Harys asked softly, “what are you doing? You know we’re not allowed to  touch the flowers.” He hunched down next to her, almost conspiratorially, as he craned to see what she was holding.

Her eyes snapped open, suddenly aware that she was no longer alone. “I- I wasn’t! Not any of the peonies at least. Just this.” She opened her hand to show him the flower, now slightly crumpled, in her palm.

“A weed?! What do you want a weed for?” He asked, giving Myria a dubious look.

“It’s not a weed!” She snapped, “they’re called Forget-Me-Nots.”

Harys paused, thinking for a moment and taking in Myria’s expression, “those are your House’s words, aren’t they?”

Myria was shocked that he would remember such a thing. While it’s true that the Wards had undertaken classes regarding the Houses of Westeros, their arms, and words, House Greenmont was not a major House, and hardly one worth memorising. Myria was touched.

She nodded, “They are.” She fell quiet for a moment before asking, “do you still think of home, Harys? I do. But not as much as I used to. I wonder if they still think of me.” Her face grew dark as she contemplated those thoughts. Perhaps time alone in the gardens was the last thing she needed, she scolded herself. Too much time to think. Rylon always used to tease her for overthinking. He’d come and find her in her ‘sulking spots’ and pester her until she'd either run crying to Mara, or break out of her mood. She wished she could hear his teasing just one more time.

Myria was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t notice Harys bending down once more into the flowerbed, she didn’t see him pluck the small blue blooms from the earth, and she certainly didn’t see his blush as he gently tucked them into her hair.

“There we go,” he said softly, “a little piece of home.”

The tug at her hair snapped her out of her reverie as Harys stepped back and offered her his arm. She smiled as he said, “c’mon, let’s go get some lemoncakes. I won’t tell the Septa if you don’t.”