Myra

She was searching for something.

Far away. Yes, so very, very far away, but closer than before. There were no walls or water, not this time.

But still so far. Her sisters would not like it, but they would listen. They always did.

Only then could they return to Brother. Only then.

Myra blinked against the sunlight as it broke through the trees, interrupting her ruminations. She'd had strange dreams for a long time now, though they were often dark and forgotten by dawn, but ever since she had escaped with Jaime, the clarity of them was almost overwhelming. A forest in the night, and sounds so distinct, she might have actually been awake.

And the words in her mind. They were not spoken. There was no voice. They were almost...perceived by her, as if instinct was telling her how someone else was thinking.

Shaking her head, Myra pushed the thoughts away entirely. There were far more real and dangerous things in the waking world that she needed to worry over, not least of which was the man sitting across the fire from her.

It had been two days since they left Dragonstone, and what supplies they had taken from the fisherman had dwindled to near nothing, not that it had been much to begin with. Some salted fish, dried fruit, some other salted meat that she preferred not to know the origin of. It was a far cry from the meals she was used to, but a small price to pay for the freedom she had gained.

Fortunately for the two of them, Jaime was not like many southern lords she had come to know in King's Landing. Where men like Renly or Littlefinger would have been completely out of their element lost in the forests of the Crownlands, Jaime had taken to it in stride. He knew how to hunt and had painstakingly killed a couple rabbits, which he was currently skinning in silence. She wasn't sure if that was just how he worked, or if he was ignoring her; she supposed it didn't matter. They had nothing to talk about.

Much to his chagrin, they were currently traveling north, although it was only until they hit water again. The Bay of Crabs was to be their guide. Once they hit the shore, they would turn westward. Travel along the waterway would be dangerous, but it was better than wandering aimlessly through the trees.

That had been her suggestion, and was really the only thing she had contributed to their journey thus far.

Myra inched closer to the fire, which Jaime had built, and drew her knees in. They had no cloaks to speak of, so she had awoken freezing and covered in dew. She wanted to be dry before they set out again, and sat as close as she dared, all while watching Jaime through the flames.

She wondered, and feared, whom they would find first. If it was Lannister forces, Lord Tywin would undoubtedly have her sent right back to King's Landing, where she could play the role of hostage for another king, only this time she would have no chance of escaping. If they found her brother's men, Myra could not be entirely certain if Jaime wouldn't use her as a means of escape. Yes, he had been kind and saved her life many times, but at the end of the day, she was a Stark, and the enemy. If it meant staving off capture, Myra did not doubt that he would put a blade to her throat.

And some small part of her could not blame him for it.

Unable to sit useless anymore, Myra stood and moved to the other side of the fire. Jaime was currently working on the second rabbit, ripping its skin off the muscle with a sickening tearing sound. She paid no mind to it. The hunting dogs back home had done far worse to little creatures.

Sitting next to Jaime, Myra grabbed the bloody carcass of the first rabbit and tossed it onto a slab of rock she had put in the fire earlier. The meat began to sizzle almost instantly and the smell made her remember just how hungry she actually was. She grabbed a small stick, quickly checked it for insects, and began to move the rabbit around. They were lean creatures and too long in one spot would burn the meat.

Glancing to the side, she noticed Jaime looking curiously at her.

"What?" she asked. It was the first she had spoken in nearly a day, she realized.

"You can cook."

Myra snorted. "I'm a woman, aren't I?"

She could practically hear Jaime's eye roll as he went back to skinning the rabbit. "Ladies of great houses don't learn how to cook little animals on rocks."

"This one did."

And then it was back to silence.

She wondered if it would be like this the entire way; she wasn't exactly attention starved, but their journey could very well take weeks, and the silence would eventually eat away at her. What few conversations she'd held with the man, however, had been out of some sort of necessity. Jaime Lannister was not the kind of man one just struck up casual conversation with. What would they talk about anyway? How their families hated one another? How they were currently killing one another?

How he'd pushed her brother from the broken tower?

Myra sighed, flipping the rabbit over as Jaime added his. She could not think about that now. Whatever past crimes Jaime had committed, they had to mean nothing to her, or they would never survive the journey together.

The lone wolf dies...

But could a wolf survive with a lion?

A twig snapped.

Jaime was up in an instant, sword half drawn. Instinctively, Myra moved behind him, waiting for whatever order he would give her. This was his element, after all.

But both found themselves relaxing ever so slightly as the origin of the noise presented itself.

It was a horse.

This creature, however, was far from relaxed. It was saddled, the bags pierced with arrows. A few more were lodged in its flank. Its ears were flat against its head, eyes wide, nostrils flaring with the smallest flecks of blood on the skin. The horse had been running, hard. If they were lucky, wherever it had gotten those wounds was miles away from them.

But Myra was slowly beginning to understand that whatever sort of luck surrounded her and Jaime was far from the good kind.

When Jaime dared to take a step forward, the creature bolted. They watched it gallop into the distant trees and disappear.

"Put out the fire," Jaime whispered, hand still on the hilt of his sword as he began to watch the surrounding area warily. "We have to go."

Having learned not to hesitate back on Dragonstone, Myra immediately dropped to her knees and began to shovel dirt onto their fire with her hands, ignoring how their food was suddenly bathed in the stuff. Still, she grabbed a handful as they all but ran from the area. A bit of dirt in her food was better than an empty stomach.

It was midday when Jaime and Myra finally relaxed. They had doubled back on their path a few times just in case, and were now steadily heading north once more.

Myra vaguely recalled looking at a map of the area once, Crackclaw Point it had been called, when she studied with Maester Luwin. It had seemed such a small peninsula at the time, but the further they traveled with nothing but forest to greet them, the more Myra was aware of how large the world truly was. It made the journey from Winterfell feel like the blink of an eye in comparison.

She supposed this wasn't what her mother had been referring to when she encouraged her to travel south.

Gods, she hoped her mother got back to Winterfell. She hoped she wasn't alone to worry about her children and husband; she hoped Bran could get a smile from her and Rickon could distract her with all his antics.

If only Robb could be there with her too.

But then she would be destined to return to King's Landing, and Myra needed that little bit of hope to get her through.

Jaime had finally released his sword, and was currently using his hand's newfound freedom to constantly pull his hair from his face. Myra had been watching for some time, a smirk growing. There was just something so human about the gesture. Here was the Lion of Lannister, famed knight of the Kingsguard, fumbling with his hair like a little girl.

Robb and Jon never had that issue. Their hair was so curly, they could go days without taking a brush to it and no one would know the difference, except her mother of course. Theon was not quite as lucky, however, and both she and Robb had teased the Greyjoy mercilessly over it. Jon wouldn't bother, only because it lead to more trouble than it was worth.

Oh Jon. Was it selfish to hope he had been told nothing of what was happening?

Her traveling companion tucked another stray hair behind his ear, only for it to fall immediately back into his face. She heard him sigh and could not help herself.

"Perhaps you should cut it."

"What?"

"Your hair. It's clearly bothering you," she replied, falling into step beside him. "People would be less likely to recognize you too."

Though he was hardly recognizable now. Beard aside, his blonde locks seemed to have withered, taking on a dull brown look instead. He'd grown thinner too, the beard hardly covering how his cheeks had hollowed. But, he still had his demeanor, the way he spoke, the way he stood, there was an air of importance around him that people were bound to take notice of. Once word got out they were missing, it might become downright dangerous. As much as she'd like to see people again, perhaps they were better off without.

"If that's the case, maybe we should cut yours," Jaime offered, turning to her. "Try to make you look more like a boy, though I guess not everything can be helped."

Myra felt her eyes narrow at his knowing glance to her chest.

Theon indeed.

They continued on in silence, Jaime having kept his hands firmly at his side since their small exchange. Myra took that as a victory, and felt decidedly better about the day despite the hunger once again gnawing at her insides. Perhaps they would find a creek. They didn't have water skins and could use the break.

When Jaime stopped at the crest of a hill, Myra froze in her tracks. She watched him turn his head slowly, taking in their surroundings, his hand on the sword hilt once more.

"What is it?" she whispered, looking around for herself. All she saw was endless rows of silent trees. There weren't even any birds chirping, which might have concerned her if the forest had not been that way since the beginning. It seemed even the wildlife could not tolerate Stannis.

"Stay here," was all he said before descending the hill, out of her sight.

Myra frowned, wishing she had more to go on. She was hardly alone, but given that Jaime was completely out of her line of sight, it felt as though he was on the other side of the country rather than a hill. It made her nervous. The memory of the horse was fresh in her mind.

So, against her better nature, she disobeyed, climbing the hill and crossing to the other side.

Almost immediately, she wished she hadn't.

The hill flanked a road, the first she had seen since leaving King's Landing, but it wasn't empty. Two wagons sat in the middle, both uncovered, one overturned. The mules that had been pulling them were still tied to the vehicles, lying in pools of blood.

Scattered around them were the bodies.

Men and women, young and old, were lying on the ground in various unnatural positions and states of dress. One woman had the front of her corset torn open, leaving her exposed for the entire world to see as her eyes stared unseeing at the sky above. A man was facedown in the dirt, a knife in his back. Another was on the edge of the forest, an arrow in his skull, a failed attempt at escape.

But it was the girl her eyes focused on.

She was such a small thing, no older than Rickon if she had to guess, with a head full of beautiful blonde curls and freckles that streaked across her nose. On the ground beside her hand was a simple doll made of sticks, perhaps put together by her mother, because it was all they could afford.

They'd slit her throat, and left her to die in the dirt.

Myra approached the child, kneeling beside her. Her hand reached out to touch the girl, but some unseen force prevented her from doing so. Lamely, it hovered above the girl's head before falling back to her side. What was there to do for her now? Her suffering was gone, as was everything else.

"What are you doing?" she heard Jaime hiss from behind her. "I told you to-"

She didn't look up at him, her eyes could not leave the girl, but she heard him sigh. It was soft, sad perhaps, as if he had told her to stay back to spare her the sight rather than for her safety's sake. It was kind of him, but she didn't say that.

"I didn't know the war had come this far," she murmured.

"You said it yourself, half the Crownlands swore to Stannis," Jaime replied. He sounded closer, directly behind perhaps. She wondered what he was doing. "The other half clearly disagrees."

"And now the people pay the price."

Myra grabbed the little doll, turning it over in her hands. Distantly, she heard Jaime's footsteps. He had left her again.

This was the true face of war that the songs never spoke of: the meaningless slaughter of innocents. Whether they were bandits or anointed knights of the Seven, it made no difference. War gave men the terrible right to exact whatever sort of carnage they had their minds on.

Robb would never do this. She knew her brother. He would never allow his men to do such things.

But what if he did?

No, no, her brother might change, but not in this way. He had been taught better. Their father had taught him better.

Your father enjoyed it just as much as I do.

Myra closed her eyes, as if it could shut out Jaime's words as well. She would not listen to her fears; she could not.

"Don't linger on it."

She turned, eyes opening again. Jaime was standing near one of the wagons. He had grabbed a satchel and slung it over his shoulder. In his hands was a piece of fabric, a cloak maybe.

"What are you doing?" she asked, even though she knew the answer. He'd been looting.

"If we are going to survive, we need supplies," he explained slowly, his usual biting tone all but gone. He walked back toward her and took a knee by her side. "The further we go, the worse it is going to get. People are going to die, Myra, they will be screaming and bleeding and raping and doing all sorts of things your septa never prepared you for. And you need to turn away from it. If we stop, we die."

She looked deep into his green eyes, seeing the sincerity, but also the urgency in them.

"I should go away inside," she mumbled, remembering that day in the Red Keep, when Robert had been the worst of her problems.

A strange look passed over his features before Jaime nodded. "Exactly."

Myra looked to the doll in her hands again. Gently, she placed it in the girl's hand, and curled her small fingers around it. She had no words, no prayer out here. The old gods were blind in the South, and the new clearly did not care.

Nodding once, she let Jaime help her up. He handed her the cloak, leading her back into the forest.

Tyrion

Being the Hand of the King was going about as well as expected, meaning that when he wasn't attempting to bash his brains in on the desk, then he was drinking to numb the intelligent part of his mind that had to deal with the unnavigable labyrinth that was politics with his sister.

All in all, it wasn't too different from his normal life, really.

He had inquired on the whereabouts of the Stark girls with both Varys and Littlefinger, who swore up and down that they had no clue as to either girls' location. He was only tempted to believe them because neither was likely to pass up the opportunity of being in Cersei's good graces upon delivering one of the girls back into her charge.

So, Tyrion put aside the idea of diplomacy altogether and decided to focus on defense instead.

Renly Baratheon had rallied both the Stormlands and the Reach to his cause, bringing his army to a staggering one hundred thousand, if the reports were to be believed. Then again, Renly never could achieve anything without telling everyone within earshot. He always had been a terrible gossip. It was probably why the Tyrells liked him, besides the obvious.

Despite Renly's numbers, however, it was Stannis that left Tyrion worried. His army was not terribly large, but he had the ships, and he had the experience. If he played his cards right, King's Landing could be his in one fell swoop. Fortunately for them, he was too focused on his little brother at the moment.

Which left Robb Stark.

He may have been green, but Tyrion had heard the reports; he was out maneuvering the Lannister army at every turn. The thought of his father being beaten by anyone was downright unbelievable, but the fact that it had to be by the boy whose father his family happened to execute was utterly terrifying. Cersei could joke about the King in the North all she wanted, but he knew a threat when he saw one.

Tyrion sighed. No matter how he looked at it, the situation felt incredibly hopeless, and sometimes left him wondering if this wasn't his father's version of a death sentence.

The sound of crunching shook him from his thoughts.

Bronn sat across from him, legs propped on his desk and map, subsequently marking up the North with mud while he was at it, eating some nuts he had found...somewhere. No one had brought any food, that he was aware of. Was that his food?

"Do you mind?" Tyrion hissed, gaze switching between Bronn and his boots until the sellsword got the hint. "I'm trying to plan a defensive strategy."

Bronn sat up in his chair, pointing at the map. "You've been staring at this piece of paper half the morning. You're not doing anything."

"I'm so glad I kept you around, Bronn. You really boost the confidence of a man."

"You pay me to protect you from getting killed, not from the truth," Bronn countered, leaning back. "You just need to clear your head. A good killing can get you there."

Tyrion shook his head. "I can't just kill a man whenever I feel like it. It's uncivilized."

"This place just gets more boring the longer I'm here," Bronn continued. "Alright, what about a good fucking? Where's that girl of yours?"

"Not. Here."

"A good meal?"

"You're eating it."

Bronn looked to the nuts in his hand. "Oh, so I am. Well, it looks like the capital is good and fucked then isn't it?"

He should have just let Lysa Arryn toss him out the Moon Door.

Hopping from his seat, Tyrion gathered his soiled map and a few other items. Surely the library had a few hints at as to what he could do to better prepare the city for an attack. Sitting back smugly and assuming the walls were impenetrable was not exactly his preferred method.

Just as he reached the door, it promptly swung open, revealing his new squire, Podrick Payne. The boy was a bumbling mess, but he meant well, and did not appear to be someone out to kill him, and really that was all Tyrion could ask for these days.

"Apologies, milord," the boy mumbled with a quick bow of his head. "Lord Varys is here for you."

"Tell Varys I don't have time for-" Tyrion started, not really in the mood to deal with anymore realm gossip, especially from the Spider, seeing as how it was never good, but Varys swept into the room before he could finish the sentence. "-and you let him in."

Pod opened his mouth to no doubt stumble through a pathetic excuse, so Tyrion waved him off before he made a sound. The boy left, closing the door behind him.

Varys stood in the center of the room, dressed in silks and smelling faintly of lavender, taking everything in. "Funny, I thought it would be more...red."

"Not everyone has the decorating sense of my sister," Tyrion replied, crossing back to his desk. Bronn looked painfully smug as he continued eating. "So, tell me, Varys, what sort of ill news have you brought to me this time?"

"Ser Jaime has escaped Dragonstone."

Relief. That was all he felt. What little he had received when his father told him that his brother was still alive paled in comparison to what he felt now. He was no longer Stannis' hostage, to be used as a bargaining chip in the war against them. No, now the playing field was beginning to level off.

"Well..." Tyrion breathed, sitting in his chair. "That is remarkable news, for once, and also rather impressive given it's an island. Another rousing tale for my brother, no doubt. I'm sure Cersei is already planning a feast, something themed, like a lion hunting a stag, or would that be in poor taste?"

Bronn shrugged. "Line's a bit blurred at this point."

Varys did not comment on Tyrion's poor joke. In fact, he seemed to have become rooted to the spot, and was doing his best not to look in their direction.

Oh gods, he hasn't told her.

There was only one reason why Varys would avoid telling his employer news that would undoubtedly overjoy her: it came with something equally horrible.

"Varys, why haven't you told my sister?" Tyrion asked, regretting every syllable he uttered.

The spymaster glanced over. "He did not escape alone."

"Don't say it," he started, holding his hand up, somehow already knowing the answer. "I will pay you good money not to say it."

"Myra Stark escaped with him."

Tyrion sank back in his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I told you not to say it."

He could have said anyone else; he could have told them that the Mad King himself had come back from the dead wreathed in flame and was currently flying Jaime away from Dragonstone on the back of Balerion the Black Dread and it would have been better news.

"That girl your brother saved?" Bronn asked, sounding more curious than he should. "There a problem with that?"

"She's only the person whose head my sister would like to see mounted on a pike the most," Tyrion replied, hand sliding from his face. "I didn't even know she was on Dragonstone."

Varys shrugged. "Nobody did. Apparently her trip to White Harbor took a slight detour."

"Slight," he echoed, glancing at the unfurling map on his desk. "Ned Stark probably sent her to get Stannis. Clearly it didn't work out well for either of them."

"It managed to get her out of King's Landing prior to his execution. Some would call that fortunate."

"I wouldn't. She was stuck with Stannis all this time. I'd prefer the execution."

Bronn snorted. Varys looked unimpressed.

Tyrion sighed. "I suppose this means that I am to be the bearer of bad news to my sister, seeing as how my life is clearly unimportant, never mind that I'm the Hand of the King. We're easily replaced after all. Bronn...no, you'll enjoy this too much. I'll bring Pod instead."

He expected yelling or the throwing of certain priceless items across the room. Tyrion even expected to fear for his life once he told his sister of the less than agreeable side of his otherwise good news. What he did not expect was how utterly still his sister became. She sat on her chair, staring right past him, her hands grasping the rests with white knuckles. It was far more terrifying than he expected it to be.

As time passed, Tyrion began to realize Cersei might remain that way if he did not say something. Part of him considered just leaving, let her deal with her anger in whatever way she pleased, and deal with the aftermath later, but as Hand of the King, he had responsibilities, and one of the was to make sure the Queen Regent didn't murder any unsuspecting servants while throwing a tantrum.

It was bad enough that Joffrey did it.

He took a deep breath. "Cersei..."

His sister blinked, slowly, and then the life seemed to come back to her. She began to shuffle the papers on her desk once more, grabbing her quill and dipping it in the inkwell. On a new piece of parchment, she began to write something, a little furiously for his taste, but it was a better reaction than he could hope for.

"We'll send for some of our soldiers to intercept him," Cersei said calmly, not looking up from the paper. "The City Watch is far too incompetent for such a task."

"Ah, now that much we can agree-"

"And they'll have orders to kill the Stark girl."

Tyrion blinked. "Excuse me?"

Cersei looked at him like he was simple. "Myra Stark is a traitor to the crown. The penalty for treason is death, which our soldiers will serve once they find her."

He should have known that this conversation was going to go south. Nothing ever worked out in his favor, at least not when he wanted it to.

"She's just a girl, Cersei."

"A girl who conspired with one of our enemies and supports another."

"The other being Robb Stark who, if he doesn't already want to burn King's Landing to the ground, certainly will when he gets wind that we killed his twin sister," Tyrion countered, rubbing his temples as he felt a headache coming on. "She is the solution to our hostage problem. We lost her younger sisters. If our men bring her back alive, we could keep the Stark armies off our backs while we deal with all the other enemies we've made."

"Robb Stark is not a threat."

"Robb Stark is winning the war!" Tyrion shouted. Cersei's eyes narrowed to little more than slits. "As much as you or I want to believe that our Lannister might is infallible, the fact of the matter remains: the Starks have won every battle against our father. If you order this, you may just be damning everyone."

Tyrion knew his protestations would be fruitless, however. The poor Stark girl, born with the face of another, never stood a chance against his sister. Even if he could convince the soldiers to bring her back to King's Landing, chances were she would not last long. If Joffrey did not have his way with her, Cersei would eventually do something, lock her away to never be seen again, or disfigure her face in such a way that no one would ever wish to gaze upon her.

He knew his sister all to well. Perhaps death was a better option.

Cersei rolled up the parchment. "I am the Queen Regent. My orders stand."

She stood then and left the room, nearly slamming the door into poor Podrick's face.

Tyrion sighed, sinking deeper into the chair.

How had it come to this?

Jaime

He couldn't remember the last time he had spent a proper night outdoors. Sometime before he swore his oath to the Kingsguard, he supposed, when his father would take him on hunts. There was no retinue to attend to them, and barely a camp to return to at night. Sometimes Uncle Kevan would join them, but for the most part it was just the two of them. Jaime always thought it was less of a lesson of survival and more to finally have him cornered so he could teach him a thing or two about being his heir.

Jaime had always hated it, but in recent years, he looked back on the memories with more fondness than irritation. Of course, being alone with his father was far preferable to anything with Robert or Stannis. The bar never was very high for him.

It had been nearly two decades since then, yet Jaime still felt at ease in the woods, though he didn't think it had anything to do with what his father instilled in him. Probably just more of that youthful arrogance he always went on about, though he supposed there wasn't much youthfulness to it anymore.

He tossed a twig into the dimming fire, watching as the flames overtook it, crackling slightly.

Across from him, Myra Stark stirred.

It had taken her some time, but she eventually accepted the cloak he had given her, more out of a desperate need if anything. This night was colder than the others, and she was huddled under the thick fabric so far that only the ends of her hair stuck out.

He had hoped to spare her the gruesome sight on the road. She'd had a strong stomach so far when it came to death, but those were soldiers, not smallfolk, and he couldn't afford to have her fainting while they were on the run. When she hadn't, Jaime had been surprised. She continually proved herself stronger than he gave her credit for. He thought it might have been a Northern trait, but he remembered her sister, Sansa, and quickly changed his mind on the matter.

Myra shifted again.

She was dreaming; she had been the past couple nights. He didn't know what about. Occasionally she would murmur something unintelligible, but always began to toss and turn whenever she was about to wake up. She'd look around the area, confused for a moment, before remembering their situation and relaxing.

That was another strange thing about her. Any other lady of the court would have been utterly petrified at the idea of being out in the woods so long. Myra had yet to complain, except about him of course. They were getting testy with one another, and he was certain it would only get worse the further they went. He'd never expected her to be able to not only take his hits, but also throw them right back at him. It seemed whatever propriety she had possessed when they first met all those months ago had finally run out.

He was certain the idea would entertain him more if they weren't on the run for their lives.

Myra sat up suddenly, lowering the cloak from her face. She wrapped it about herself, keeping her knees close, as she began to look around the area. But the night was dark without the moon, and their fire had to stay as small as they could keep it.

She glanced up. "What do you suppose it means?"

Jaime followed her gaze. Through a gap in the trees, he saw a red comet as it streaked across the sky. It had been there for some time, from what he understood.

"It doesn't mean anything," Jaime replied, leaning back against the tree he sat in front of. "Signs, symbols, miracles, all superstitious nonsense."

"Do you have faith in anything?" she asked, head tilting.

He lifted his sword in reply. Myra shook her head and went back to stargazing.

Jaime watched her for a moment, taking in how she barely moved whenever the forest creaked. Occasionally she turned her head, but slowly, as if she was only curious, not paranoid. She was completely at ease.

Alright, he was curious.

"Tell me, how did you learn?" Jaime asked, earning a confused look from her. "To cook that is."

Myra nodded, inching closer to the fire so she could warm her hands over it. "Not just cooking. I can start a fire, skin some animals too."

Jaime blinked. "Yet you didn't mention it."

"You seemed quite insistent upon doing it yourself."

She met his gaze, but quickly broke into a grin, even a small giggle. The look on his face must have been something else.

"When my brother, Robb, was old enough, Father took him to the keeps of all our bannermen, so he could better understand the lands he would rule one day," Myra started, her gaze flicking between him and the fire. "I'd never been apart from him for more than a day or two, and was quite insistent that it remain that way."

Jaime understood that. He and Cersei had never longed to be parted, even before the beginning of their relationship. Two halves meant to be whole, as his sister always described them.

It suddenly occurred to him that Myra was also a twin. He'd forgotten, given she looked nothing like her brother. Being with him must have made thinking of her brother particularly awkward, but she made no mention of it. Perhaps she was bound to forget all of that. Their journey would certainly go smoother without her bringing it up.

Myra continued, completely unaware of his scrutiny. "Eventually, Father agreed. My mother always said that if I ever begged for anything, he never stood a chance."

She paused, the smile on her face sad. Jaime watched the emotions play across her face. He supposed she hadn't had the proper time to mourn. Being a prisoner was hardly the time to do so, and neither was being out on the run in the woods.

He still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that Robert was actually gone. The man had always seemed one cup or bad piece of meat away from dying, but at some point Jaime had become convinced he'd outlive him only to piss him off. The king had been petty like that.

And Ned Stark? That was another matter entirely.

He only hoped Cersei knew what she was doing.

"So, he, Robb, and I travelled across the North. Bear Island was our final destination." Myra smiled again, her thoughts clearly far from the chaos of his own. "The Mormonts are a different sort of breed. Even for us, they're a little extreme. The instant Dacey Mormont learned that neither Robb nor I could swim, she grabbed us by our cloaks and tossed us into the Bay of Ice. And that was how we learned."

Jaime smirked half-heartedly. "Didn't do you much good at Dragonstone."

"I'd like to see you swim in a dress made of wool. It's much heavier than it looks, I assure you," Myra countered, giving him a look. "Anyway, the Mormonts insisted that if my brother was to learn anything, so was I. Whatever they taught him, they taught me. Father thought it was fair, but Mother was absolutely horrified when her daughter came home with a fox pelt she'd skinned herself. Of course, none of us told her I practically cried the entire time. She'd have throttled my father.

"I wouldn't hunt anything though. That was where I drew the line. I don't like...killing anything, but if it was already dead, it was best not to let it go to waste." She paused, glancing up at him. "And that is how a lady of a great house learned to cook little animals."

Jaime nodded, taking in how relaxed she looked. They'd never really spoken of anything that wasn't terrible, had they?

"Well, you're certainly better than my brother," Jaime found himself saying, leaning closer to the fire. "The first time our father took him hunting was the last time. He never wanted to go in the first place. Hunting involved riding and running and the outdoors, pretty much everything he hated, but Father insisted. No Lannister was going to go through life with his nose stuck in a book and his spear unused. It was a little spear, of course, Tyrion could hardly use a normal sized one. The servants wouldn't stop making size jokes for weeks."

He watched Myra smile softly, completely unoffended by the joke. She looked almost reminiscent if anything.

Jaime wondered why he was even telling her, but as the words continued to pour out, he realized that he just wanted to. It felt nice to just...talk. Aside from his family, which mostly consisted of Tyrion, he never had a regular conversation with anyone about anything. He was the Kingslayer, after all. No one just spoke to someone like that.

He used to tell himself that he didn't have the time or patience for people, but he'd never had the opportunity either.

"Tyrion didn't manage to kill anything," he continued. "So, Father had him skin the boar I'd gotten. It took him all of a minute to slice his thumb open."

Myra gasped slightly, her hand over her mouth.

"Uncle Kevan and I were in a panic. Father just took the knife and finished what Tyrion started. We bound his hand up as best we could and rode back home. That was when Father banned him from hunting with us ever again." Jaime paused, smiling softly. "When we were alone, Tyrion looked up at me and whispered 'all according to plan.'"

Myra laughed, though she quickly quieted down when she remembered where they were. Even Jaime chuckled slightly.

"Did he really cut his own thumb so he wouldn't have to hunt anymore?" she asked, eyes full of curiosity.

"No, I think my brother is full of shit," Jaime replied, listening to her giggle again. "But he's very good at pretending he's not."

"None of my brothers are, but they still try," Myra started. "When he was six, Bran took-"

The change was instant. Myra met his gaze briefly before looking back at the fire. He didn't miss how she backed up slightly and wrapped the cloak tighter around her.

Jaime took a breath. For a moment, even he had forgotten.

What fools they both were.

"You should go back to sleep," he murmured, not bothering to look at her again.

"No, I'm awake," she replied softly. "It's your turn."

Jaime did not protest.

He was vaguely aware of Myra turning her back to him as he fell asleep, where he dreamt of blonde heads and little boys who knew too much.