A Vow Without Honor

The Escape

Myra

Unlike the last time she had left this foul city, the sky was gray and the clouds heavy with rain. They drenched the capital, causing small rivers to form in the streets as they washed away the dirt and grime. It came down in sheets so hard that they had to delay until nearly the afternoon, when the rains finally subsided and covered the land in a fine mist. The clouds continued to hover low, covering the higher towers of the red keep and obscuring them from view. She could not even see the Blackwater from where they stood in the courtyard.

Some had suggested they wait until the next morning, but Jaime was having none of it. He barked orders at his men, snapping at the slightest hint of attitude.

It had been a week since his confession, and Myra was positive her husband hadn't slept for any of it. He was awake when she fell asleep and gone well before she awoke, leaving the bed cold and lonely. Brienne told her they'd been practicing hard, though he was worse each day. He was desperate for a distraction.

Myra stood in the midst of the chaos in the courtyard, watching with curious eyes. She'd worn a fine golden dress with a cloak of deep crimson, the large lion of House Lannister embroidered across the fabric. It wasn't a heavy thing, yet she felt the weighed down by it, by the expectations that sigil demanded.

Her breath came out in small puffs. She wondered if she would see snow soon.

The last snow felt like another lifetime.

A commotion stirred in the courtyard as the Kingsguard entered, four tall, armored men escorting a little boy king. In one hand, Tommen held one of his kittens, while in the other, he held Myrcella's hand.

Myra dipped into a curtsy with a smile. "Your Grace."

Tommen bravely attempted to keep a straight face, but his lower lip began to tremble, and then he was running toward her. She knelt and took the little boy into her arms, taking care to not crush his poor kitten. It mewled between them, its claws sticking to the fabric of her dress.

"Please don't go," the boy sniffed, looking up at her with red-rimmed eyes. "I want you to stay."

She wiped the tears from his eyes. Had things gone to plan, he would be coming with them, crammed in a carriage with her and all his cats. They'd have taken him to Casterly Rock, and Jaime would have taught him all he needed to know about being a knight. He might not have his sword hand anymore, but Myra did not doubt he would have relished the experience. They would have been a family, the three of them, as strange as they may have appeared.

Tommen deserved the chance to still be a child, but now he was a king.

"I know," she said gently. "And I hate to leave you."

"Then why do it?"

"I have duties to attend to, just like you."

Tommen shook his head. In his cloak and heavy clothes, his little body was overwhelmed by fabric, and he looked much younger than he was.

"I could order you to stay."

Myra sighed, pulling a stray curl from his face. "Yes, you could, Your Grace, but do you really wish to?"

He caved immediately. "No."

Myrcella gave her a long hug, her smile warm yet sad. "Have a safe journey, Myra. Take good care of my uncle, please. He needs it more than he lets on."

Truer words had never been spoken.

The young princess looked down at her little brother. "Do you want to give it to her?"