Myranda Is Actually The Meme With All The Red Strings Rn: I'M CONNECTING THE DOTS. I'M CONNECTING THEM. - Blog Posts

girls   had   no   right   being   smart,        had   no   right   to   be   clever        –        or   at   least,    that   was   the   gist   that   had   so   long   been   spoken   about   women,       the   gist   that   had   not   taken   hold   in   myranda,    whose   mind   ticked   and   formulated   thoughts   and   ideas   far   quicker   than   some   of   the   men   she'd   seen   taking   up   armor   in   hopes   of   becoming   one   of   the   winged   knights.    though   the   blackfish   might   not   have   fully   caught   on   to   her   words,    there   was   no   doubting   the   curiosity   she   knew   she   had   piqued   by   her   line   of   questioning        –        no   doubting   the   fact   that   the   man   who'd   known   her   since   she   was   little   and   ever   more   full   of   questions   knew   she   did   not   ask   unless   she   already   had   an   inkling   of   the   answer   she'd   receive. 

myranda   only   smiles,    warm   and   sweet   as   she   brings   her   goblet   of   wine   to   her   lips   and   drinks,    before   placing   a   hand   upon   his   arm   carefully.        “you   must   stay   for   the   tourney   lord   littlefinger   is   insisting   we   hold,    i   believe   your   little   grand   -   nephew   would   find   comfort   in   your   presence.”        that   was,    if   the   sweetrobin   even   made   it   down   the   mountain,    she   was   starting   to   have   doubts        –        starting   to   feel   the   ill   at   ease   settling   in   her   stomach   that   often   came   with   a   shifting   tide.    harry   the   heir   was   not   being   called   to   heel   at   last   for   only   a   sweet   showing   of   kindness   before   his   little   lord   paramount.    but   myranda   was   more   interested   in   directing   brynden's   gaze   to   the   girl   littlefinger   had   touted   as   his   bastard   daughter,    more   interested   in   piecing   together   the   missing   link   to   the   question   of   who   she   really   was.    she   already   had   an   idea,    but   proof       .   .   .       proof   was   necessary. 

“perhaps   he   might   even   see   fit   to   name   you   one   of   his   winged   men,    if   he   does   not   find   you   have   grown   too   wrinkled   to   wield   your   blade.”        her   lips   curl   into   a   teasing   grin,    the   jest   off   of   her   tongue   as   easily   as   if   she   had   been   speaking   to   a   friend   her   own   age.            “or   maybe   you   will   finally   find   yourself   taken   with   a   lady   so   that   you   may   settle,    i   hear   baelish's   bastard   daughter   is   quite   lovely,    pretty   eyes.    bluer   than   blue.”

TIME HAD SEEMED TO SLOW SINCE HIS ESCAPE . Riverrun was now in the past , as was the self - righteous look upon Jaime Lannister's face , occasionally still haunting him in short , subtle nightmares . should've socked that ugly git in the mouth when he'd had the chance . should've faced him in combat , maybe , and gone down like a true knight . . . and forsake every chance to ever help his family again . the few of them that were still alive , that was .

the Blackfish turned his own goblet in his hands , slunk down in his chair . he had believed the Eyrie safe to return to , but the news of Lysa's death had reached him just in time - and his journey thus had ended at the Gates of the Moon ; safely tucked away , for now , in the stronghold of a friend , until he had recuperated and healed the few wounds he had suffered during his escape . " I'll let you know once I've spotted a foolish girl around . " his voice sounded gruff as ever , but there was kindness in his eyes . he'd known Myranda since she was but a girl . since the days when she'd been unwed , unwidowed , and a little more lucky than she seemed these days .

Littlefinger knew of his presence and had offered copious invitations for him to stay at the Eyrie , but an ugly little weasle remained an ugly little weasle and he'd rather drown himself in the moat , than trust Petyr Baelish . to the daughter he had claimed was his , had Brynden paid no attention at all . " Catelyn , " he replied almost into his goblet , tully blue eyes grown distant for but a moment . he had failed his little Cat and now he sat trapped in the Vale , unsure of where to turn . his gaze switched to Myranda then , curiosity peaked at the odd question . she was a smart girl ; quick - witted and fast to catch on . and beyond the reputation as a terrible gossip , Brynden knew she rarely asked questions just for idle conversation . " why the sudden interest ? "