A Vow Without Honor

The Future

"Nothing that bears repeating so long as I live," Jaime replied quickly. His voice was hoarse. He'd been shouting. "Also, you might want to double your guard, or pay the current ones more. Maybe hire a food taster. Cersei is...going to be in a mood for a while."

Tyrion blinked. "What did you do?"

"I played the game," Jaime said, taking another drink. "And I won."

There was a moment of silence. Tyrion looked to Myra, and she to him, before they simultaneously lifted their goblets and drank.

Despite their insistence to learn more about what transpired in his absence, Jaime refused to share any details. Only his constant drinking and a dark look in his eyes hinted at the severity of their confrontation, which only prompted the rest of the party to drink more, until they'd forgotten it all entirely.

Well after sundown, all three Lannister outcasts were thoroughly inebriated, laughing easily and speaking freely. Tyrion had taken to lounging on a sofa while Jaime sat in a large, cushioned chair, his little wife curled up in his lap. Her head was resting comfortably on his shoulder, appearing utterly exhausted, but every time something remotely funny was spoken, she would giggle and her head would lift briefly.

Even in this state, Tyrion was still able to observe the pair rather clearly – after all, only Bronn could hold a candle to his drinking. It was strange, seeing Jaime so at ease. Of course, he'd had ample time to grow used to the idea of his brother being a married man, but he'd never seen him so comfortable in the role. His good hand was wrapped around Myra – rather tightly if he were honest – and he took no issue with taking every opportunity to give his wife a proper kiss, like some love-struck little boy. Tyrion thought he ought to feel strange witnessing the whole thing, but he was far too fascinated by it.

He still kept that stump of his at a distance, leaving it on the armrest away from everything, but every now and again, Myra would reach for it and hold it until something demanded her attention. Usually, it was more wine. She'd tried to hold it for Jaime to drink as well, but that was a failed venture from the get go.

This was all Jaime had ever wanted. He could see that now. It wasn't so hard to believe why his loyalties rested with Myra now.

She was a good woman, Myra Stark – Myra Lannister – and perhaps precisely what they all needed.

"Jaime, I say this as your brother and because I love you: you had no right to survive anything over the course of the war."

His brother chuckled at that, clearly in agreement, until Myra raised her goblet, then he took a moment to be offended.

"You always say Tyrion is the smartest Lannister, so don't be cross when he's right," she replied, laughing as she drank the last of the wine and tossed the cup away. "Besides, if it weren't for me, you'd still be in a cell on Dragonstone."

They all laughed at that then. The wine had served to fill in the gaps in Jaime and Myra's story, though Tyrion was still unsure of certain parts. Things had happened that neither was willing to admit, the furthest they spoke was of how Myra saved his brother's life when they'd been attacked, how Jaime had taken two arrows and nearly died in some nameless part of the country, lost to them forever.

Tyrion sobered a little then.

It was when he noticed Jaime's hand becoming a little adventurous that Tyrion decided it was time for him to depart.

"I'll leave you to it then," he said quickly, keeping his eyes averted lest he see something he really shouldn't.

"Thank you, Tyrion," Myra's oddly sober voice called out to him, causing him to pause and turn. She was watching him with the warmest of smiles on her face. "For everything you've done. I'm glad to call you family."