A Vow Without Honor

The Discovery

Myra

Before he spoke to her, Jaime Lannister had been unconscious for three days.

The first had been the easiest.

After she had managed to compose herself, Myra had cleaned up as best as she could. She made certain that Jaime was as comfortable as she could manage, and then set about distracting herself. She straightened out the camp, organized the items that would be useful, tossing the rest. Since moving her companion was out of the question, Myra made a new fire to his left, hoping it would be enough to keep him warm for the time being. She let the flames soar as high as they dared. With her three new guardians, Myra did not care who might have seen the smoke.

Given that looking at anything else was preferable to the broken man suddenly left in her care, Myra and Brenna returned to the scene of the attack, the latter seeming to bark on order at her sister. Lady sat beside Jaime and did not move until they had returned.

She combed through the bodies strewn across the forest floor, searching for anything else of use. Their wretched states did not faze her in the slightest. At the sight of every new body, she would simply look at them, appreciate the deserved damage the direwolves had dealt, and hoped that they had not gone quickly. Deep down, some part of her was disturbed, but the sensation was thoroughly buried under a fury like no other. Who was she to feel pity when the entire world sought to harm her?

One body had remained untouched. It was the large man she had stabbed, the one who had held her back as his comrades attacked Jaime. He was seated at the base of a tree. From a distance, he looked to be merely resting in its shade, but his eyes had the unfocused appearance of death, his trousers soaked completely through with blood. Apparently, she'd hit that spot Jaime had told her of, the kind to render a man dead in minutes.

Good.

She hadn't expected Jaime to be awake when she returned, arms full of water skins and other trinkets, but it was disheartening all the same. So, she sat beside him and began to clean up the blood on his body.

His fever started some time in the night.

Given how dark it was, Myra had to wait until morning to check his wounds. Until then, she had bundled him up with as many blankets and cloaks that she could find around the camp, and then sat beside him throughout the night, listening to his teeth chatter and the occasional moan escape his lips. He moved quite frequently, and she struggled to keep both the cloaks in place and his leg from further harm.

Brenna and Lady had watched on, large beasts rendered utterly useless. Myra thought she saw the glow of Nymeria's eyes from the trees, but the darkness played tricks all the time.

Come morning, he still lived, yet that did not put her mind at ease.

Myra cleaned out his leg, pursing her lips at how tender it was. It did not appear infected, but at the end of the day, she wasn't Maester Luwin, and knew little of such things. Still, she knew it could be worse, and if she did not keep up the care, it would be, at which point Jaime would be all but finished.

The shoulder was less concerning, although it still leaked. Deciding it was for the best, Myra grabbed the fishing supplies she had found and, after giving herself a generous helping of the atrocious alcohol she had picked up, began to sew the wound shut.

Jaime had mumbled something incoherent at first, but was otherwise silent as she worked. The hook was hardly made for such a task, and she'd made quite a mess of it, but in the end, the stitches were strong, and would hold the wound closed.

After an awkward affair of positioning and attempting to not drop Jaime on his head, because rolling onto his side would never work with his leg, Myra managed to get him upright, and sewed the entry wound closed as well. He'd mumbled a bit more at that, names and other things. She thought she'd heard hers.