A Vow Without Honor

The Shift

Jaime

He didn't sleep that night.

He'd slept the entire day away, after all, but that wasn't really the reason why Jaime kept a silent vigil through the early hours of the morning.

Ever since he was a child, Jaime had spent the night alone. He'd never taken any other women to bed before, and attempting to do so with Cersei had come with the threat of discovery and execution.

So, even for him, there were certain things he was not accustomed to.

He'd never known the sensation of a body lying next to his for hours on end. His mind never touched on the thought of holding someone in his arms for longer than a few moments, on the idea that he had the choice not to let them go. The concept of lying in bed with the woman he loved without fear of being caught was completely foreign to him.

But things were different now. Myra had changed everything, and Jaime found himself completely unwilling to sleep through it all.

So, he held her throughout the night, feeling her back rise and fall against his chest, listening as she murmured softly in her sleep, and distantly waiting for it all to disappear.

When she had first come to him, Jaime had thought it was all a dream. Gods, he had never expected the woman to forgive him, much less apologize herself. It felt like a wicked game, a cruel trick his mind was playing on him, but here he was, holding her, and there she was, never disappearing.

Was happiness such a difficult thing to believe in?

Happiness.

It was a strange word to him, and perhaps a stranger sensation. Describing himself as happy hadn't been something he liked to do, as if the word itself made him recoil and to be described as such made him all the weaker. He supposed that could be blamed on his father. Tywin Lannister had never encountered a greater enemy than a smile he could not be rid of. He'd certainly tried to kill it in all of his children.

Perhaps that was why Tyrion smiled as often as he could, even if he wasn't truly happy.

Funny how it didn't feel like such a weakness now. The longer he held her, the more capable he felt. Even the loss of his hand paled against the sensation of holding her in his arms. Suddenly, everything was far less terrible, and the past several weeks were nothing more than a bad dream, and Myra Stark was completely unaware of the affect she had.

Or so he thought.

"You're thinking too loudly," her muffled voice called out, heavy with sleep.

Jaime couldn't help but chuckle, resting his head on the crook of her neck. "Am I now?"

She hummed in reply.

"Can you tell me what I'm thinking?" he asked, kissing the soft spot beneath her ear.

Gods, he could do this all the time now, couldn't he? The thought almost made him giddy. Giddy. Here he was, Ser Jaime Lannister, the famed Kingslayer, reduced to little more than an overjoyed boy. Seven hells, there were actual boys who had gotten to do more than him, who had always had more freedom than him, and somehow he had once thought himself their better.

Myra turned in his grasp, putting an end to both his musings and efforts.

"You're thinking that if you distract me, I won't ask about what you're really thinking of."

Jaime paused. "You are far too good at this, Myra Stark."

"Perhaps you're just too easy to read, Ser Jaime."