She had always dreamed of this day.
Mira sat on the edge of her narrow bed, the pale dawn light creeping through the slats of the wooden shutters and spilling across the floor, painting faint stripes across her bare feet. Her hands rested in her lap, fingers twisting around one another in a nervous rhythm she couldn't still, though her face remained calm. The key had turned in her door five days ago, and since then she had lived in silence with only her thoughts for company. Now the silence was almost gone she wished for it to never leave.
She thought of the stories she had heard, of maidens in songs who waited by the window for their beloved, who dreamed of wedding days filled with love and laughter, who stepped out in gowns of white. She thought of how often she had let herself imagine that life, of how often she had let herself picture the boy she wanted at her side. But the face that came to her was never Brant Tanner. It had always been someone else.
The sun rose higher, filling the room with gold, and Mira felt its warmth on her skin. Yet no warmth reached her heart. The dress folded neatly on the chair mocked her; the flowers set at her window mocked her too. All of it was meant for joy, but none of it belonged to her joy.
She had always dreamed of this day.
...
The door creaked as Elyse turned the key, stepping into Mira's room with a large wooden tub of water, Garlan helping her carry it. Elyse forced a smile onto her face as she acted overly cheerful. "Good morning, my sweet, what a fine day for your wedding!" she said, setting the tub down with a thud, water splashing onto the floor. Mira sat on her bed, fingers twisting in her lap, her face blank except for a slight tightening of her lips, showing her displeasure without a wingle word.
Elyse turned to Garlan. "Leave us," she said, he muttered something rude, exiting quickly as the door closed behind him. Elyse faced Mira, her smile faltering slightly but managing to stay on her face. "Let's get you bathed, then we'll try on the dress, it's from King's Landing you know, very fine cotton, perfect for you," she said, gesturing to the gown on the chair. Mira glanced at it briefly, then looked away, she still remained silent, she had nothing to say to the people involved in this.
Elyse pressed on. "Come, undress and get in the tub," she said softly, almost pleadingly.
Mira got up from the bed slowly, her fingers working at the ties of her thin shift, pulling them loose one by one until the fabric whispered down her body and pooled at her feet. She knew nothing would come from disobeying her mother; if she tried to escalate it she knew either her father or brother would come inside and rip her dress off her.
There she stood, naked in the morning light, her skin smooth and pale under the sunbeams coming through the shutters. Her breasts were very large almost comically so and perfectly rounded, sagging only slightly into tear drops. She had big nipples that stood out with large Areola and pink tips, they quickly hardened as they were sensitive to the air. Her waist was slim and tight, curving in before flaring out to wide hips that made it so she couldn't help but sway with every step, perfect for grabbing. Her bum was big and plump, soft cheeks that jiggled when touched, the kind that could be spread wide and moved like clay.
Between her thighs, a big thatch of blonde pubic hair covered her sex, it was thick and curly, slightly damp from the nights sweat and discharge. It framed her swollen lips and clit that throbbed slightly. Her thighs were thick, pressing together to tease what's between them, leading down to strong calves and small dainty feet that looked perfect.
Mira was the embodiment of beauty, so much so that she could be confused for a noblewoman, or even a daughter of one of the great families.
Elyse started undressing too, slipping out of her dress quick and easy, showing off her own body that time hadn't dimmed much. Her breasts weren't as large but still hung heavy and swayed with each move she made. She looked at Mira and smiled, her eyes were shiny with tears that threatened to fall. "You're so beautiful, Mira, my girl, really you are," she said, her voice shaking, full of love and a bit of sadness mixed in.
Mira didn't say a thing back, just stepped into the tub, the water wrapping around her legs, lapping up her calves, her thighs, soaking into that soft spot between her legs, making her skin tingle as she sank down deeper. Elyse knelt right there by the side, picking up a rough cloth and dipping it in, then starting to wash Mira's back slowly and carefully, her hands moving steady, sliding the soapy water over those smooth shoulders and down the curve of her spine, tracing lines that made Mira's skin prickle just a little.
"It'll be fine, Mira," Elyse said, washing her daughter's shoulders. "The Tanners have land, coin, a good profession. You'll have a home."
Mira gripped the tub's edge. "I don't care, Mother. I don't want him, I'll never want him," she hissed, unable to stop the anger from pouring into her mouth.
Elyse sighed, and continued washing. "I wish you could be happy, Mira, but this is our lot in life; marry for duty, hope for kindness, food, strong children. That's all we get as women," she said, her voice breaking slightlyy.
Mira turned, she had a fierce expression on her face. "You accept that, Mother, but I won't. I know what I want, and I'll fight for it," she said. Elyse's shoulders slumped, but she resumed washing, finishing Mira's arms, neck, and hair. Mira stepped out, drying herself with a cloth Elyse handed her. Elyse lifted the dress, holding it up. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said, her voice pleading.
Mira looked at the dress, and thought it was beautiful, but she only wanted to wear it for one person, not Brant Tanner. She gave a faint smile, not for her mother, but for her own dream.
_____________________________________
The edge of the Harrowfield farm was quiet, at least in the sliver of space where Arthur stood with Myrna, hidden in the shade behind a thinning row of trees that separated the property from the brush and river. The sun had risen high now, and from where they stood, Arthur could hear the voices of many different people, much more than he had expected. They were moving through the open space in front of the farmhouse where the wedding would take place. There were carriages, horses, and what sounded like the laughter of men who'd already started drinking. The Tanners had brought guests.
Arthur crouched down in the grass and scanned the property, watching the fields, the people, and the small gathering forming near the main house where a pale archway of bundled grain and old silks had been clumsily erected. His hand rested on the hilt of the sword at his hip.
Myrna stood beside him, her eyes flicking between him and the barn across the way. "Do you know what you're going to do?" she asked quietly.
Arthur exhaled through his nose and shook his head. "Not exactly," he admitted. "There's more people than I thought. I figured it'd just be the Tanners and maybe some neighbours, but it looks like a proper event." He watched two men in leather jerkins unload crates from a cart and carry them towards the house. "Too many eyes for me to just walk up and take her. If I cause a scene, we'll be overrun before we make it past the gate." Though he supposed that due to being the belle of the village people would be interested in seeing the marriage if only for the bedding ceremony. 'Cretins...' he thought. The idea of someone touching his sister enraged him in a way he'd never felt before. He even considered killing everyone right there, he even might be able to do it.
He paused, his gaze drifting as he thought. He needed a way to cause enough confusion to mask their escape —something that would draw attention but not immediately get people killed. Then his eyes stopped on the pigpen that sat just past the barn, fenced in with old wooden planks and half-rotted posts, and a thought started forming. It was right near the main road. Right near the crowd.
Arthur turned to Myrna. "I need you to get to the stable," he said. "There should be a brown mare still inside, the one with the white mark on her forehead."
Myrna nodded. "I remember her."
"Good," Arthur said. "Saddle her. Load her with whatever supplies you can find. Food, waterskin, anything light enough not to slow us down. That horse is going to be our way out once I get Mira."
Myrna's eyes locked with his. "You've got a plan?"
"I think so," he said. "It's not perfect, and it's going to be close. But I've got something."
Then he paused and looked at her. For a moment the tension in his shoulders loosened. He stepped forward, leaned in, and pressed his lips against hers in a brief kiss that was over almost as soon as it began, but it still managed to make her heart skip a bit. When he drew back her eyes were closed and she almost fell over trying to follow his lips.
"Thank you for everything. For the food. For patching me up. For staying.... I promise we'll see each other again," Arthur said with a smile as he touched her shoulder.
Myrna gave a small smile. It wasn't sad, more wistful. "I believe you," she said simply.
Arthur gave her a final nod, turned, and crouched low to the ground as he moved along the treeline. One hand rested on the sword, the other on the fence. He didn't look back.
...
Arthur crouched, nearly putting his face to the ground, as he crossed the edge of the field, his eyes fixed on the hut of the pig pen just ahead. He kept low to the ground, careful not to draw any attention from the gathered guests just a few dozen yards away. The ceremony hadn't started yet, but the laughter and the clinking of tankards already filled the air, and he knew that meant he had very little time. He reached the side of the pen, found the spot he remembered, which was a broken slat just low enough for someone to slide beneath and dropped to his stomach.
The ground was still damp from morning dew, the dirt clinging to his tunic as he pushed himself under the fence. As he pulled his legs through, something damp brushed against his face. He flinched, then turned and found the heavy snout of a pig staring right at him, sniffing loudly. "Get off me," Arthur hissed under his breath, swatting at the pig's snout. The animal grunted, still curious and kept on sniffing, so he shoved it harder this time. It squealed then bolted toward the other end of the pen.
Arthur froze for a moment, watching the house through the gaps in the fence. No movement, no sudden attention. Good. He stood up and looked around. The pigs had moved away from him, rooting in the corners or rubbing against the fence boards. He looked around, as his mind began to piece things together. The Inventive Genius trait was strange. It hadn't made him smarter, but it had changed the way his thoughts formed. His mind now seemed to process shapes and materials like pieces on a board. The moment he thought of something he wanted to build, he could visualise the entire structure: how it would stand, what pieces needed to go where, what it would need. Right now, he didn't need some masterpiece or complex design. He needed a distraction. One that would pull every person's eyes toward it the moment it went off, and he just so happened to have one in mind.
He moved to the back corner of the pen where an old beam crossed the roof overhead. He then pulled out a coil of rope hung up on a hook in the pen and tossed one end over the beam. Then he moved to a stake in the ground and tied the other end tightly, adjusting the height so that the rope hung down just at about his height. Next, he reached into the satchel Myrna had given him. It was worn leather but packed tight with basic supplies and some herbs. He took out a lump of animal fat that she'd helped him render after his hunt. He smeared it across the lower length of the rope, working it deep into the fibres. The scent was thick and foul enough to catch a pig's attention immediately.
Then he pulled out a loose plank of firewood from the half rotted wall, wrapped one end in cloth, and coated that too with animal fat. From another pocket, he took out the flint and his dagger and struck them together until the cloth caught. He waved the torch a few times, letting the flame strengthen, then tied it tightly to the hanging end of the rope.
He stepped back and looked at the setup. The pigs wouldn't need much encouragement. Pigs would eat anything. Rope, hay, shit, even each other if it came down to it. The fat would draw them, and once they gnawed through the rope the torch would drop into the dry straw and the whole pen would go up in flames. And when it did, everyone nearby would run toward it, and no one would be watching the house. He reached into his pocket and whistled low, then pulled out a small half-apple and tossed it into the corner near the smeared rope. Three pigs started trotting over. One sniffed the rope immediately. Arthur backed away and watched for a few seconds; one bite, then another. It was working.
Ping
+1 Intelligence for coming up with a cunning plan.
Arthur let out a quiet breath. "Nice," he muttered, glancing once more at the setup to confirm it was secure. He wiped his hands on his trousers and turned, crouching again as he moved back toward the broken slat. He slid beneath it quickly, keeping his body close to the ground until he was clear. Once outside, he kept to the tree line, making his way around the edge of the property until he reached the back of the house.
The sun sat high in the sky, beating down on the open field just beyond the farmhouse. The wedding hadn't officially begun, but the celebrations had. Dozens of villagers filled the space. Neighbours, distant kin, even tradesmen from two hills over. They drank from mugs of watered-down ale and chewed on cuts of pork and cold oatbread while a few people tried their hand at playing a lute that once belonged to Arthur.
The Tanners were seated at the long table nearest the house, given a place of honour. Darry Tanner sat at the centre, a broad man with a heavy gut and thick arms, his beard streaked with white and grey. His eyes were always squinting, like he'd just woken up. Beside him was his wife Louise, a woman with a long face and narrow lips, her hair tied in a neat bun and her eyes watching everything without blinking much.
On Darry's left was Brant—the groom. He was taller than Arthur, and thicker in the chest and neck, with a squashed-looking nose and hands that twitched constantly, like he couldn't ever sit still. His younger brother Ulric sat at the far end, less built than Brant, thinner in the face, but always smiling and always looking around for the next bit of attention. Around them were at least a dozen other guests, the village blacksmith, two of his apprentices, the miller and his family, old Erwin the fletcher, and even the village headman, a stooped man named Farlan.
Gorman stood with Darry by a barrel of ale, both of them with mugs in hand. Their conversation was quiet, but friendly enough. They wouldn't pretend not to hate each other, but they also wouldn't ruin the day between their kin. "Let our feud be ended with the joining of our blood," Darry said as he lifted up his mug.
"Let our families be joined," Gormon recited, clinking his mug against Darry's, but anyone who knew him could tell he wasn't happy about this.
Brant leaned over to Garlan, chuckling under his breath. "See the redhead by the water barrel?" he asked, wiping foam from his lip. "She's got thighs thick as ham hocks. I'll have a tumble with her after I've done my duty."
Garlan smirked. "You take her, I'll take the baker's niece. Blond one. Looks very soft from behind, but her hips leave plenty to hold onto." He nudged his new brother in law and laughed when she looked their way and quickly turned back to her friends. Ulric had already tried his luck. He stood by the well now, speaking to a girl with freckled cheeks and a basket of flowers. She looked uncomfortable, but Ulric kept talking, one hand gesturing wildly while the other tried not to grab her waist.
Everything was going well. Everyone was smiling. Somewhere off to the side, the butcher's sons had started a drinking game, and two of the older farmers were already arguing over whose crop would come in heavier this year.
Then someone shouted, "Fire!"
Heads turned. A second shout came: "The pig pen's on fire!"
All at once, the mood shifted. Men pushed up from their seats, mugs dropped to the ground. Gorman cursed loudly, tossing his drink aside and spinning toward the field. "Gods damn it all! Move! Get it out!"
Darry stood, eyes wide. "The pigs—!"
Garlan was already running, yelling for someone to grab buckets. Brant stumbled over the bench trying to follow. The girl Ulric had been talking to ran the other way as he sprinted for the trough.
The flames could already be seen past the fence, thick smoke curling into the air as the dry hay inside caught fast. The pigs screamed in confusion, some ramming the fence in panic, others running in circles. The smell of burning fat and old wood hit the field within moments.
"Water!" Gorman shouted. "Get it from the well, the trough, the basin—I don't care where it comes from, just move your arses!"
The men scattered, grabbing whatever they could. Buckets, bowls, a few helmets—anything that could carry water. A chain formed between the well and the pen, water splashing out with every pass.
No one noticed the farmhouse. No one noticed the boy moving quietly around the side. The ceremony hadn't started. All eyes were on the fire.
Just as planned.
...
Arthur circled around the back of the house, keeping beneath the kitchen window. The sounds of shouting and stomping boots from the field behind him made it clear the fire was doing its job. He moved quickly, keeping to the shadows until he reached the rear door. It creaked slightly as he pushed it open, and for a moment he froze, expecting a shout or the clatter of approaching footsteps—but there was nothing. The house was empty.
He exhaled through his nose and stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him.
The hall was familiar, even after the hat felt like a lifetime away from it. He moved fast down the corridor, passing the cold stone of the hearth and the threadbare rug. Mira's room was at the end, same as always. He reached it in four strides and grabbed the handle, but it didn't budge. "Shit," he hissed, pulling again to no avail. He glanced around, eyes landing on a side table not far down the hall. The key sat atop it. Arthur snatched it and turned back, sliding it into the lock and twisting. The door clicked open.
But the moment it swung inward, something flew at him from the side. He caught it without thinking, his hand wrapping around a wooden pole before it struck his head.
He blinked, surprised by his reflexes.
'Thank the system. Dexterous really was a great trait.'
The person in front of him stumbled back, and then Arthur saw her.
Mira stood in the centre of the room, breathing hard, wide-eyed, still holding the base of the pole with one hand. She wore the wedding dress, pale cotton hanging from her shoulders, fitted tight around her waist, and squeezing her large breasts tightly against her body, the hem grazing her bare feet. Her hair was pinned up, a few curls falling loose around her face, her eyes wet with frustration and anger, but now something else. She stared for only a heartbeat more before rushing forward and throwing her arms around him. The pole clattered to the ground.
She gripped him so tightly he thought she might crush his ribs, her face burying itself in his neck as she began to sob. "I knew you'd come," she whispered through tears. "I just knew it, I knew it in my heart, Arthur, I—"
She pulled back, hands on either side of his face, and kissed him all over—his cheeks, his nose, his chin—and then, without hesitation, she kissed him fully on the lips. Arthur froze at first, caught off guard by the emotion behind it. But then, slowly, he leaned into it, kissing her back as the last five days of worry and guilt and helplessness melted from his shoulders.
But only for a moment.
He pulled back. "We have to go," he said quickly. "The fire's not gonna keep them busy forever."
Mira nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "How willl we get out of here?"
"We sneak to the stables. Myrna's saddling a horse for us right now. We ride through the forest and don't look back."
She nodded again.
They slipped from the room and crept down the hallway, Mira still barefoot as she padded quickly across the old wood. They reached the front room without issue, but as Arthur opened the door, two men ran by just outside. He slammed it shut quietly and pulled Mira into the side pantry, holding a finger to his lips. The voices passed; some talk of buckets and how someone had to hold the gate open for the pigs. When they were gone, he gave Mira the nod and they slipped out again. The trip to the stables was a blur of half-run, half-crawl. They ducked behind barrels and under windows, circled behind the smokehouse and stayed low along the hedge line until they saw the stables ahead.
Myrna was waiting. She stood beside the saddled horse, holding the reins and a bundle tied to the back of the saddle.
"I packed as much food as I could," she said, eyes scanning the house behind them. "Bread, dried meat, a little fruit. Should last a few days if you ration."
Arthur reached out and gripped her arm. "Thank you. I mean it. I wouldn't have gotten her out without you."
Mira stepped forward and took Myrna's hand. "Thank you," she said earnestly. "I don't know what else to say. Just... take care of yourself, please."
Myrna smiled faintly and gave a small nod. "Go. Before someone comes looking."
Arthur and Mira mounted quickly. Mira climbed up behind him, arms wrapping around his waist. He looked down at Myrna one last time.
"We'll see each other again," he said.
She gave a small, hopeful smile. "I believe you," she said again.
He turned the horse and kicked off.
They galloped into the woods, the shouts behind them fading into the trees.
(AN: Now I know what you must be thinking, surely it can't be that easy for them to get out of there. Well it won't be that easy. And don't call me Shirley. Anyway I just want to get out of Harrowfield so I'm moving things along, though that doesn't mean things won't get difficult. Anyway hope you enjoyed it.)
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