A Vow Without Honor

The Fugitives

Myra

The instant her body hit the water, all the air was knocked from her lungs. Her legs burned from the impact while the rest of her froze as she was engulfed by the deep waves of the Narrow Sea. For a few moments, which dragged for an eternity, Myra was stuck, her mind still attempting to comprehend what she had just done. The moon continued to rise slowly overhead, bathing the water in an ethereal glow, and she watched it, as if her life did not hang in the balance.

Then she began to swim.

Myra gasped as her head broke the surface. She turned one direction, then the next, trying to make sense of where she was, but everything looked different from below the cliff. She was afraid to move. Dragonstone's waters were notoriously dangerous. One wrong move and she could find herself dragged out to sea, or bashed against the jagged rocks that littered the shallows.

Treading water was growing difficult. Her dress was not one made for the South. It was from home, made of thick wool; it soaked up the seawater and was beginning to weigh her down.

"Jaime!" she cried, desperately searching the waters for a blonde head. "Jaime, where-!"

Her head dipped below the surface. It was only brief as a surge of fear gave her the strength to return, but the panic had set in. If she did not free herself, the dress was going to drown her.

Myra took a breath before letting herself sink. The world went quiet as she fumbled with the trappings, but the cold of the water had numbed her fingers and the movements were slow. She couldn't get anything to release.

She returned to the surface long enough to catch a breath before sinking again. It felt as if something was dragging her down towards the bottom. As a girl, she had feared the deep of the water. Old Nan liked to speak of bony hands that would claw at the living from the abyss. Would her tale be true?

Only her fingertips brushed the surface now.

She went into a frenzy, arms flailing wildly as she desperately clawed for the surface, but the harder she fought, the more tired she became. And then her lungs began to burn, begging her mouth to open and let in the sweet relief of air. But there was none to be found, only saltwater.

Then, in a brief moment of clarity, she remembered the blade.

To her unending relief, the Valyrian dagger was still within the folds of her dress. She wrenched the thing free and started to cut open the front of the bodice. But the edges of her vision were beginning to pulse, and her fingers were so clumsy.

When the dagger fell from her grasp, all Myra could do was watch.

Then Jaime grabbed it.

His free hand cupped her face. Through drifting strands of hair, Myra saw Jaime examining her. Soon after, she heard the dull sound of tearing fabric and felt him tug the wretched dress off.

Even now, she heard a scandalized gasp in the back of her mind as she was left exposed to him in nothing but her smallclothes.

Jaime wrapped his arm around her waist, dragging her limp body to the surface.

Coughing and sputtering, Myra took in air once more. How sweet it tasted.

She was vaguely aware of Jaime swimming them in some direction. Occasionally, she even tried to help, but her senses did not fully return until she felt sand beneath her feet. Though Jaime helped her up, Myra was able to stumble out of the sea on her own. She made it a few feet, well clear of the waves washing up on the beach, before collapsing on the sand. Jaime fell beside her, and there they lay for some time, surrounded by the sound of waves and their own panting.