A Vow Without Honor

The Game

Jaime

"It looks ridiculous."

Myra bit her lip. "It is certainly...ornate."

"My dear wife, you have never once lied for the sake of my pride. Please don't start now," Jaime replied, leaning back in his chair. Maester Qyburn was currently strapping a rather ludicrous fake hand to his wrist, with flowers and vines and a hideous shade of gold to boot. He'd almost said no to the entire thing – he didn't want this stinking lecher anywhere near that part of him – but the other option was Grand Maester Pycelle. They'd be here until Winter came if that was the case.

Lesser evils, he supposed.

Lesser idiocies more like.

"If anything, becoming a Lannister should have made you more prone to breaking down one's pride. We've a proclivity for it," Jaime continued, grabbing a date from the bowl on his desk. He never used to have an interest in them. Must have rubbed off in Dorne.

"Well, then, if we are speaking truths," Myra started, sitting across from his desk. She'd taken the day to actually wear Lannister colors. Jaime knew it made her uncomfortable, but he all but made up for it by telling her how ravishing she was in them. Had he both hands, he would have put that lionhead pendant around her neck himself, and left only that as he proceeded to take the rest off.

"I'm quite surprised you know the word proclivity," Myra continued, grabbing a date herself. "And how to use it."

"Thank Tyrion for that one," Jaime replied, eying Qyburn as he tightened the straps. "He once made it his goal to teach me a new word every day. Half my vocabulary is thanks to him."

Myra hummed, smiling. "That does sound like him."

"I'm starting to think you like him more than me."

"I'm starting to think you're right."

They fell into silence after that, as Qyburn finished up with his duties. The former maester said something about the progress of the healing on his wrist and something else about the false hand, but Jaime didn't hear a word of it. He was too busy paying attention to Myra.

Of course, she was sitting there, soaking in every word, because that was what she did. Never mind that it was about caring for him, and that was basically what half her occupation was now. No, that was just her. Taking interest in topics when most would have shrugged them off, smiling at the one hated person in the room, that was and had always been Myra Stark, and she was still there despite everything. The edges were rougher, her eyes were sadder, but the woman he had come to know so well was still there right before him.

Myra turned then, and gave him a toothy grin. He'd been caught, but didn't bother looking away.

"Are you done yet?" he asked Qyburn, keeping his gaze locked on Myra. It felt like a challenge, and neither one of them was about to relent.

"Yes, my lord, I have just fin-"

"Then leave."

He rather liked having this power. Of course, when he was in the Kingsguard, servants and the like would obey him – after all, he was Jaime Lannister – but this was different. He was a lord and if he really didn't want to deal with someone, he could just order them away. It didn't matter what they thought of the situation.

Suddenly, it was as if Jaime understood Robert entirely.

"If I ever get too fat, tell me," Jaime said as the door shut.

Myra's eyebrows stitched together. "What?"

He shook his head. "Nevermind."

The room was quiet. Myra was still eying him, curious, but wary. It reminded him of those nights on the run, when she couldn't quite make out what he was; it seemed they both had done their fair share of that. At least he wasn't a completely open book to her. He wanted some part of him that he willingly shared. Worked better for his pride.