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JON
Olly refilled his cup for the second time, while he wiped the remaining ale from his beard. He had hoped a drink might calm him, yet it only stirred up his mind. His own father's voice repeated the same words in his head over and over again. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.
And Jon had swung the sword. He was right to do it. Castle Black was no place for cowards, and if Jon had spared Lord Janos' life, he would have been a coward too. His whole command would have been questioned, and Jon could not ever afford this to happen, or more like Slynt would follow.
For a moment, he wished he had never refused Stannis' offer. Jon could have made Myriah his woman, and they would have Winterfell for themselves and all the brats she would birth him. He would not have to worry about white walkers or wildings for quite some time.
"That would be all." He told Olly, who nodded and walked to the door. Shortly before the boy could reach for the door handle, it swung open and hit him in the face.
A raging Myriah stormed into the Lord Commander's chamber and stopped before his desk. "You bloody idiot!" She yelled at him, anger written all over her pretty face.
Jon rose from his chair far too fast. The ale made his head ring and he had trouble standing straight. "That would be all, Olly." He repeatedly said.
Myriah kept her insult to herself as long as they heard Olly's footsteps in the corridor, but then she burst out like wildfire catching a spark. Her voice was loud and hoarse as she faulted him for her misfortune. There was no doubt that half the castle could hear her. Jon made no effort to stop or to argue, otherwise he would have her little fist thrusting against his chest. If he had believed her to be a woman grown and wise, he was now convinced from the utter opposite. She acted like a child.
Yet again, Jon thought of his father and how he would have managed such tantrum. Eddard Stark would have crossed his arms and stared at her with his stern face until she stopped. Then he would have given her a chance to explain and excuse herself. Her following words would seal her fate. She would have either been let off the hook or she would have been disciplined.
But Myriah was not Jon's ward, a girl of eight. She only was disappointed that her false hopes didn't come true. So Jon walked around his table and stepped before her, taking long and deep breaths. It seemed to scare her since she shut up immediately. Looking into her dark green eyes, he became nervous. "Myriah, what are you doing here?"
Her anger had swiftly turned into sadness. "How could you?" She almost whispered. "Everything you ever wanted was right in front of you, presented on a golden plate. You could have had Winterfell. You could have had the Bolton's heads on spikes. Why did you refuse?"
