Guess who hates 2020? This girl!

I hope everyone here is safe and sound. Let's all make it through this in one piece, okay?

Chapter Fifty-Two
The Lions

Jaime

A good many things had happened over the past couple years that Jaime would have never thought possible, not least of which was being married to the daughter of Ned Stark. And yet, despite all these strange incidences seemingly following him everywhere, he still managed to be surprised by events. Not by the violent ones, no, those would never surprise him again, but instead, the little things, the subtle, almost normal events that he'd never taken part in before everything fell apart.

Such as right now. Here he was, seated in the gardens of King's Landing, enjoying a late lunch with Myra, Tyrion, Myrcella, and Tommen. Mostly fruits and cheeses, a light meal, chased down with a good bit of wine, and occasional sips for Myrcella when he wasn't looking. A breeze was coming in off the bay, cool and refreshing, blowing gently across the area, although once it had sent the napkins flying and they'd all had a good laugh as Tommen went to chase them down.

It was when Jaime thought about how Cersei would have yelled at the poor boy over the innocent act, chastising his unprincelike behavior, that it occurred to him how strange the whole situation was. He wasn't unfamiliar with small, family gatherings, but he was certainly unfamiliar with enjoying them. He laughed at Tyrion's jokes and Myrcella's stories and smiled at Tommen's attempts to decipher them; he engaged them all in conversation, and it came naturally, not the forced dialogue of a man put on the spot.

He'd even forgotten about his hand.

"I'm going to beat Prince Doran one day," Myrcella said, finishing off a riveting tale about the wonders of Cyvasse. It was not a game meant for him, but he'd seen Myra listening with great interest and that certainly did not bode well for his future. "He says I've come close, within five moves."

Jaime shared an unconvinced look with Tyrion. Myrcella noticed.

"I'm good!" she shouted, offended by the lack of faith from her uncles.

"No one is saying you're not," Jaime assured her.

"But we've met Prince Doran," Tyrion continued, playing with the goblet in his hands. "And when I say you probably haven't come close to beating him, I'm doing so for your benefit. He's playing the game even when it's over."

Myrcella opened her mouth to argue back, but she paused. Jaime could see everything clicking into place and chuckled as she sat back in her seat, defeated. She grabbed her third lemon cake of the afternoon to ease her suffering.

Meanwhile, Myra was having an animated chat with Tommen about his kittens. A small, black ball of fur was currently curled up in her lap, having endured a better part of the meal hidden in Tommen's tunic. It was only when he chased after the napkins and began to cry out about something clawing him, that the poor creature emerged. The newest addition to his rapidly growing collection, the boy did not like to leave the kitten alone for long.

Jaime watched her a moment, comfortably seated between Tyrion and Tommen, as she listened to the boy speak with such fervor. Tommen was a naturally happy boy, but he hadn't seen him quite so active as he was now. Cersei was never so attentive to him, and often dismissed anything he cared for, but Myra was enthralled. Of course, she was. Anything that made someone happy made her happy, whether or not she truly cared for the subject matter was irrelevant.

She deserved to be a mother.

He took a breath and looked back to Myrcella. "Tell me, why isn't your mother here?"

"Why should she be?" Myrcella asked casually, finishing off her lemon cake. "She wasn't invited."

Tyrion watched his niece carefully. "You've hardly seen her since returning to King's Landing. I thought you would have loved an opportunity to enjoy a meal together."

"Things change. We'd all be better off never seeing her again, don't you think? Tommen especially."

An awkward silence fell, except for Tommen, who had fortunately not heard his sister's comments and was still describing the antics of his little pets. Myra had, however, and was looking over at them with concern.

Her gaze caught his, and he motioned away with his head.

"Tommen," Myra said, grasping the boy's shoulder. "Why don't you show me your other kittens? Surely they're lonely now."

"Alright!" he shouted, leaping from his seat. Tommen took his kitten back and grabbed Myra's hand, pulling her back toward the Red Keep. Myra glanced back once before he lost sight of her as Lannister guards followed them out.

Jaime glanced at Tyrion again before turning his gaze to Myrcella. She had been staring at her lap, the dark red of her dress clashing with her golden curls, but when she looked up again, her gaze was resolute. He knew that look in her green eyes. Cersei had that look, as did their father. She wasn't to be moved on the subject.

"You're going to try to convince me I'm wrong. She's my mother, how could I say such a thing about her? But she's always preferred Joffrey over Tommen and I. Myra was a better mother to him now than she ever was. She just let him be a child," Myrcella spoke, gesturing to their empty seats. "And look at how she treats the two of you! You've been nothing but kind to us, and she's been nothing but horrid to you. Is it wrong for me to not want to spend time with someone like that?"

Jaime blinked, glanced at Tyrion again before leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his wine. "I suppose that settles that."

Tyrion looked less ready to give up. Strange, given his outstanding relationship with their sister, but he guessed his little brother did take issue with bad parental relationships. Cersei was certainly better than Tywin, not that it was a terribly high bar.

"When I sent you to Dorne," he started, fingers picking at the table. He would not look at her; he did not seem to be proud of it. "Your mother fought me tooth and nail to keep you here. She cares for you deeply."

Myrcella regarded him briefly before shaking her head. "She cares about controlling me. She can't do that if I'm not here."

"Myrcella…"

"Uncle," she countered. They locked eyes with one another and Jaime could see the unspoken words pass between them. "I still love my mother. I always will. But I don't love what she has become."

"Seems that Dorne has done you some good," Jaime finally spoke, looking to Tyrion. "It was a good decision to send you there."

"It was, and I will always be grateful. Trystane is good to me, and kind. I could not ask for more."

After having Robert for a father, she certainly could not. It still surprised him how she had become so kind.

Tyrion smiled slightly at the gestures, though he did not appear fully convinced.

Silence fell again, but it did not seem so awkward. He rather enjoyed it, letting his gaze drift over the bay. They couldn't see the remnants of the battle from where they sat, although the city had long been trying to be rid of the debris in time for the wedding, never mind that the ceremony and feast would be nowhere near the view. It was just expected.

When Myrcella began to fidget, Jaime found his gaze returning to her.

"Something wrong?"

"I was hoping we could talk…" she trailed off.

"Ah," Tyrion started, moving to get up. "I can see when I'm not wanted."

"No, uncle, you don't need to leave. I'd rather go elsewhere. Near the bay, perhaps?"

Jaime had thought he wasn't one to get concerned easily, especially when there weren't swords involved, but Myrcella's words had him on edge. Then again, maybe this was normal for her. He was only starting to get to know her properly, although the look on Tyrion's face said otherwise.

"Alright," Jaime agreed, standing. He offered Myrcella his good hand and together they took off into the gardens.

The journey was mostly silent, save for simple remarks about flowers or some other such nonsense. Myrcella was clearly anxious about something, and it was starting to get to him. Was it about Cersei? Dorne? Did she know something that she shouldn't?

Jaime sighed, trying to clear his mind of it all. She would talk soon enough. The fact that she even trusted him so much spoke volumes.

They began to wind through narrow, less traveled pathways, taking several sets of steps until they came to a small sitting area on the water. It was a calm place, with only the waves washing against the stone to disturb the quiet. No one was there, but there was evidence someone had been fishing. Discarded scales lined the ground. He only noticed because Myrcella had started kicking them.

"I heard there is a family dinner tonight," she started, dodging.

Jaime snorted. He couldn't help himself. It was going to be an absolute disaster, and he was not going to be on the end that came out on top, if one could claim there was such a thing.

"Be grateful you're dining with Prince Oberyn. He will be far better company."

"I imagine most people are better company than Joffrey," she replied, looking to the water. A small fishing boat sailed by, and she waved to them. "I wanted to bring Tommen, but mother would not allow it. I hate leaving him all alone."

She fell silent again. Jaime watched her as she focused on the horizon. Myrcella was deep in thought, looking far older than her years. For one moment, he was reminded of his mother. When she thought she was alone, Lady Joanna often had that look on her face, a keen mind at work, troubled by all the restrictions laid before her.

"Are you going to return to Casterly Rock?" Myrcella asked, breaking his reverie.

Jaime nodded. "After the wedding, yes. I don't want to spend a moment longer here than I have to."

"Prince Oberyn said the same thing, although being on the Small Council will make that difficult," she replied, smiling softly. The Red Viper had grown on her. Probably the only Lannister to claim that. "You should take Tommen with you."

He blinked. "What?"

Myrcella turned to face him then, grabbing his hand. "It would be good for him. He could be away from Joffrey, and Myra would be so kind to him, and I just want him to be with his f…family."

She'd been on the verge of saying it, that word that had meant danger to every one of them.

He was right. She did know too much.

His heart skipped a beat, and he felt lightheaded. Jaime thought he might have stumbled if Myrcella wasn't holding him.

"He is with his family, Myrcella," he nearly whispered.

"Not the right one," she replied, stepping closer.

He could see it in those bright green eyes staring back at him. Myrcella was not going to back down from this.

"You're playing a dangerous game."

"No more dangerous than the one everyone has been playing with me already," she countered. "I just want Tommen to be happy. I want you to be happy."

Myrcella hugged him then, wrapping him so tightly in her embrace that he did not know how to react at first.

"I've always known," she said, voice muffled against his jacket. She'd done it on purpose, so only he could hear. "But I was never grateful until now, Father."

Jaime felt as if someone had kicked him. All the air had rushed from his lungs, and yet it was one of the most wonderful sensations he'd ever had.

His arms finally worked again, wrapping Myrcella in his embrace. She would not say the word again; she couldn't, not here, but once was enough. It was more than enough to the man who had never been more than a silent figure for most of her life. He could live with this; he could do anything with this.

For this one moment in time, she could be his daughter.

All good moments had to end, and it was unsurprising to Jaime that his was followed by a visit with his father, the perfect counterbalance to anything particularly uplifting in his life. He'd already dressed for the evening meal in an overly dark red ensemble, having left Myra alone while she looked ravishing in her golden dress. She'd done it on purpose, and took for too much pleasure in it.

Just as his father took too much in making him wait.

He'd entered some time ago and had been instructed to sit, but always one to bother his father no matter his age, Jaime elected to stand, observing the office as he waited patiently. The last few times he had been in the space, he'd been in a bit of a mood, so he hadn't noticed the details in the room.

It was certainly more ornate than when Ned Stark had occupied it. There had scarcely been a direwolf sigil to be found. Now, Jaime could close his eyes, point, and there was probably a lion at the end of it.

But that was how Tywin Lannister worked. It was all about presence, and the appearance of his office mattered as much as his person.

It occurred to Jaime that this may have been the first time he hadn't interrupted the silence in order to get things moving. In fact, he felt no need to, and was almost content to wait. The whole thing was so amusing to him that he almost smiled.

What a day this was.

His father finished the letter he was writing, affixing his seal onto the parchment. He held the paper up, looking at him. If Tywin had been surprised by his patience, he made no indication.

"This is a letter to House Sarsfield stating my intentions to give all power and responsibility of Casterly Rock over to you. It is the last of, frankly, far too many letters, but that is the burden of our house," he said, standing from the desk. His father set the letter on a small stack, and Jaime found himself eying it. He doubted anything weighed more than that pile of paper. "You will now be Lord of Casterly Rock. The armies are yours, save for a few units to remain here, the lands are yours, and the responsibilities are yours."

His father paused, eying the stack himself before giving him a hard look. "Our mines are dry."

Jaime had heard the words. Even now he could feel the syllables shaking every bone in his body, and yet he could not quite fathom such a statement being told to him by his father, the man that had made House Lannister the formidable power that it was today.

"For how long?" he managed asked.

"Three years."

He shook his head, finding it hard to believe he was only hearing of it now. This was before the war started. They might have been well off then, but now…

"How…" Jaime started, placing his hand on the desk. "How have we been paying for anything?"

"Don't think that I'm so foolish as to not have reserves," his father replied, bite in his tone. "However, the Crown does owe a good deal of money to the Iron Bank."

Jaime scoffed. "The Iron Bank? I certainly hope us Lannisters still pay our debts, or there won't be much of our house left when they get done with us."

He knew the bank had a history of funding the enemies of those who owed them money, and he could think of a few key opponents who would benefit from such a boost. Stannis Baratheon, the Ironborn, maybe even Daenerys Targaryen if they felt so inclined. Investing in dragons did not seem to be a bad idea from where he stood.

He still couldn't believe talking of dragons was becoming commonplace again.

"That is why there is going to be a wedding, and why we've tolerated the Tyrells as much as we have," Tywin replied. "I have been in talks with Lord Mace, and plan on marrying your sister to his son, Willas, as soon as possible."

Jaime bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Cersei would not like that one bit. He hoped Willas had a food taster.

"The country is weak and weary from war. If this house crumbles, it will be anarchy. We must not allow that to happen," Tywin continued, leaving his desk for the table nearby. There was a sheathed sword lying upon it, something Jaime hadn't noticed despite his scrutiny. "You will need to come up with a solution, even if it is only temporary, to counteract the loss of the mines. I've instructed Kevan to remain at the Rock to help with the transition."

He picked up the sword then, examining it carefully before approaching Jaime and holding it out.

Jaime simply stared at it. Grasping the hilt felt like an oath he was not fully prepared to take. Leaving the Kingsguard was to save Myra, and though he knew it had meant more, somehow Jaime had gotten the idea in his head that it would never come to pass.

Everything kept changing and somehow, he kept expecting things to stay the same.

"Go on. Take it."

Taking a breath, Jaime grasped the hilt, the lion head pommel watching him closely with its ruby eyes. Though his left hand had grown stronger under Brienne's tutelage, it was still an awkward affair, and he could feel his father's strength holding the scabbard in place.

The steel of the sword was unexpected, a dark gray, nearly black, with veins of red rippling through it. He felt his eyes widening as the sword fully emerged, bathed in the light shining through the open window.

"This is Valyrian steel," he whispered, staring at the sword in his grasp. It was the lightest one he'd ever held, but it could cut a man to ribbons without dulling in the slightest. He'd thought the Doom of Valyria had taken all knowledge of the craft, but this was a newly forged sword, one for his household, a dream he'd always possessed since his uncle, Gerion, had left to reclaim Brightroar from the ruins of Old Valyria. He'd never returned, and their great house had gone without for generations.

"It is," his father replied. He looked smug.

"How? No one knows how to forge the steel."

"No, but there are certain blacksmiths who know how to rework it. This particular source provided enough for two swords. One for you and one for Joffrey."

"Two swords? The original would have to have been…" Jaime's voice trailed off as the realization set in. He'd seen the behemoth sword once, nearly as tall as a man and as wide as his hand. Myra had spoken of the blade with awe in her voice, as if it were a living, breathing thing, and it may as well have been.

And now his family had killed that too.

Jaime lowered the sword, almost dropping it, ashamed. "This is the Stark sword."

His father nodded. "Part of it, yes."

"A Stark is my wife."

"Really? I thought she was a Lannister," Tywin replied flatly, turning the scabbard over in his hands. There were even jewels embedded in the leather. Were they really so badly in debt? It was hard to tell. "Her brothers are dead, her uncle, from what I have gathered, is missing beyond the Wall, and her sister, whenever she comes out of hiding, will be married off to some minor lord and forgotten. House Stark is dead. House Lannister lives on, and this sword will carry on through the generations, starting with you."

Jaime looked down at the sword again, and could not help but feel briefly proud. He had convinced himself it was not what he wanted, but standing here, now, felt almost right, as if things were finally falling into place in his life.

Whether the cost had been too much was yet to be seen.

Tywin, perhaps taking his silence for doubt, clasped his shoulder.

"The Iron Throne and the man who sits upon it are not the only things that keep Westeros standing. You must be the might that holds it together. This is what you were born to do, Jaime."

It was not much of an inspirational speech – felt more of the opposite really – but Jaime nodded.

"I'll do my best not to disappoint you."

"Good," Tywin replied, offering the scabbard. Jaime awkwardly slid the sword back inside before taking it from his father. "And you can start by producing an heir."

Jaime sighed. The sooner the wedding concluded, the better. At least he could ignore his father's letters.

He stared at the pommel again, wondering how it managed to look like Tywin.

"I do have one request," he said suddenly, gaining his father's attention. His eyes narrowed, no doubt expecting something foolish. It was usually a safe bet. Perhaps it still was. "I'd like to take Tommen to Casterly Rock. He seemed to enjoy it well enough the last time. He could squire for one of the lords and-"

"Agreed," Tywin replied, abruptly cutting off Jaime's attempt at a speech. "Cersei has favored Joffrey for far too long, and look what it has left us with. Until the king has sons of his own, Tommen is his heir and I will not risk another spoilt brat on the throne. Whatever your wife's faults are, I trust that she can care for the boy."

The day was full of surprises.

"She can," Jaime said. "She cares for Tommen, like one of her own."

He supposed he almost was, and Myra knew that, yet she bore no ill will toward him. He recalled how she lamented her mother's treatment of her bastard brother. No, she never would treat Tommen so harshly, no matter how horrible the sins of his parents.

"Good. We'll make the announcement after the wedding."

Even his father knew better than to tell Cersei before they were nearly out the door. Ruining well-formed plans was an expertise of hers.

He wondered if Tywin Lannister didn't sometimes fear her.

Myra

"I must admit, my lady, I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of this dinner," Brienne spoke next to her as they walked through the halls of the keep. Most of the lords and ladies had departed to their own affairs, small gatherings turning into bigger feasts as the wedding day drew near. This was the time of day Myra enjoyed the most, and often when she would take a walk to gather her thoughts. If making polite conversations had been difficult before, doing so now with the knowledge she had and her title made things even more unbearable, especially from those clearly seeking her favor.

"I don't believe anyone going to this dinner actually is," Myra replied, grabbing her golden skirts as they approached the steps to Maegor's Holdfast. "It feels like we're preparing for battle."

That was how Jaime described it at least. Family affairs had been awkward enough when they weren't at one another's throats, but throw both her and Margaery into the fray and things were liable to go downhill quickly. He had suggested getting her fill of wine before arriving, but Myra preferred to face Cersei and Joffrey while sober. At least she knew Tywin would not tolerate anything too unruly, and the sad fact that she had to depend on him to see things through was not lost on her.

"Where is Jaime?"

"He had to meet with Lord Tywin first, so I imagine his mood will already be quite dour by the time he arrives."

Brienne smiled slightly. "He probably deserves it."

Myra's mouth popped open in mock surprise. "Lady Brienne! I think you're spending far too much time with my husband."

The two of them actually managed to have a small laugh. Hearing it echo across the stone walls seemed strange to her, like she was hearing a memory instead. She never thought to be happy in this place again.

Only Ser Boros Blount was standing outside the dining hall when they arrived, meaning Joffrey and Margaery had probably not arrived yet. He eyed the two of them as one would vermin and looked sorely tempted to draw his sword. Brienne noticed this, placing her hand on her hilt. She stood taller than the Kingsguard, and Myra had no doubt she could best the man in battle. Jaime had told her most of the guard were ceremonial and useless, and had lost a good deal of respect when Joffrey dismissed Ser Barristan Selmy, although he had some hope for Loras, even if he was more politically inclined than the others.

"Brienne, you may go now," she said, eyes never leaving Ser Boros.

Normally, Brienne might have questioned her, but she wasn't a fool. She would not do that in front of anyone else, least of all the craven standing before them.

"Yes, my lady," was all she said as she quickly turned on her heel and departed, her footsteps echoing long after she had left.

They stood still for a moment, staring at one another, and Myra found her patience quickly ebbing. Rather than ask him to move and encourage some haughty response, she simply moved toward the door, ready to open it herself. She hadn't outgrown the notion of doing her own work after all.

When Ser Boros slammed his hand against it, she sighed.

"You don't belong here," he sneered.

And from what she understood, neither did he. He'd been stripped of his white cloak for cowardice prior to the Battle of Blackwater Bay, and only stood before her now because Tywin Lannister had reinstated him.

But Myra made no mention of that. She merely glared at him, not deeming his attempt at intimidation to be worthy of a response. Eventually, he relented, and Myra was able to open the door into the chamber.

There was only one other person inside. Cersei watched her from the head of the table, fingers thrumming against her goblet as she sat poised to take another drink. Her green eyes narrowed, her features turning disdainful. There was not much to her beauty when she was angry.

The door shut behind her, hard, echoing across the empty space.

"Where is Jaime?" Cersei asked. She sounded nearly cordial. It made her wary.

"With your father," she replied, stepping away from the door. Myra was admittedly unnerved by the situation, but she was not afraid of Cersei. She was not the girl who hoped for the reprieve of another person stumbling upon their conversation. Her words meant nothing now.

It was her potential actions that gave her pause.

"Ah, yes, no doubt handing my brother the keys to the kingdom," Cersei remarked as Myra took a seat at the center of the table, next to what she presumed was Jaime's. "I should congratulate you. You've given my father everything he has ever wanted on a silver platter."

Cersei raised the goblet in mock salute and drank. Myra might have been determined to stay sober, but the queen regent was not.

Her eyes narrowed as she watched her. Cersei wore a gown of deep red with a metal plate that encircled her midsection. She'd made certain to wear her armor for the battle ahead.

"Then again," Cersei continued, placing the goblet down. "Have you really given him anything? Jaime has never cared for politics. That was why he joined the Kingsguard, to get away from it all, and somehow you weaseled in and took that from him, convinced him that this was the life he should lead. He has no idea what he is doing. He'll destroy everything our father built."

Myra watched her with growing disbelief. Everything she had heard and experienced told her how Cersei truly was, and yet, somehow, she always hoped for a flicker of humanity, something that explained to Myra how Jaime could have cared for her as passionately as he had. But she never seemed to find it, only a pit even deeper than the one before.

"I will never understand how he ever cared for you," Myra said quietly.

Cersei actually laughed. "Do you really think you know everything? Jaime and I spent our whole lives together. What have you had? A year, if that? You know nothing about my brother."

"I know everything," Myra countered. "Everything you did to him, everything he did for you. Why he really joined the Kingsguard, what he did to Aerys, why my brother fell from the tower. There isn't a thing I don't know and accept about him, but you? I don't think you have ever accepted him. He is everything you wanted to be, so you tried to take it from him."

The idea of ever regarding Robb in such a manner disgusted her. He was her brother first, her strength to the very end, and even beyond. What did Winterfell matter in the presence of family?

But Cersei was not like that. Perhaps she never had been.

And for that, Myra pitied her.

The queen regent looked amused, like she was watching a child pretend to be an adult. She still thought her that girl she'd intimidated on the Kingsroad, the quiet, respectful child who would do anything to avoid conflict.

And look at what that had gotten her.

"So, this is what a taste of power does," Cersei mused, taking another sip. "You've grown bold, little wolf, I'll give you that. Everyone always foolishly thought you were innocent, the distressed maiden that needed saving, but I always knew, and I can see it now. First Robert, now Jaime. You like to climb.

"And how can I blame you, no one wants to be at the bottom rung, but this is where you stop. One word and I can have you executed, and there isn't a thing Jaime or that lion pendant can do to stop me. I am the queen regent, my son is the king, and we would both see you dead before you take anything more."

Myra watched her a moment, and suddenly she could see every face that had taken from her. People who assumed she was something she was not, people who thought they could use her simply because of her name, and it made her angry. And in that moment, all she wanted to do was knock Cersei from the pedestal she had placed herself on.

"Power is a funny thing," Myra said quietly, fingers dancing over the utensils. "You can't see it, but everyone keeps insisting to me that it is there. I suppose they're not wrong. What are kings and lords without power? And yet what did power do for Robert when he was alone in his room? What did power do for my brother at a wedding?"

Myra grabbed the dinner knife, holding it before her. She could see her dark eyes in the reflection and could hear the sound of her brother's final breath. Her hand remembered the sensation of a blade colliding with flesh and muscle, the way it popped when it broke through. It was not something she relished, but she did respect it.

She turned to Cersei, feeling utterly unlike herself, like that day in the forest or in the Twins, when people thought they could take advantage of her without a fight.

We have to play their game.

"I could kill you before your guard even makes it through the door," Myra said softly, placing the knife back down. "So, tell me, Cersei, which of us has the power here?"

It was then that Cersei's mask slipped. There was no fear, she hadn't expected it, but her face contorted briefly into a look of pure disgust.

Yes, she thought, that was what Cersei truly looked like.

Myra was spared from whatever reply she had by the arrival of Tyrion, who stood in the doorway looking between them hesitantly.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," he said quietly, moving to pour himself a glass of wine from the nearby table. He grabbed two goblets.

"Of course not," Myra replied with a smile, sitting back in her chair. "We were just having an amusing conversation about ladders."

"Sounds riveting," Tyrion replied, sitting to her right. He handed her a goblet. "Does anyone we know plan on falling from one?"

Cersei narrowed her eyes. "Possibly."

"And that is why I do my best to stay away from them."

It fell silent then. Myra could hear Tyrion fidgeting beside her, but she did not look his way. She and Cersei were too busy staring at one another; she tried to imagine what horrid thoughts the queen regent was shooting her way, and found herself entertained by it.

She'd gone mad, hadn't she?

The doors opened again, revealing Lord Tywin and a very surprised Jaime.

"Oh good, no one's bleeding," he remarked, making his way to Myra's left. Cersei was forced to vacate her seat as Tywin entered, taking the one to his left instead.

"Shockingly, no," Tyrion replied, watching the table carefully. "Although if you had given it a few more minutes…"

"Enough," Tywin said as he sat down. He already sounded fed up with the entire thing, and she had thought this was his idea. Although the look on Joffrey's face when he entered moments later said otherwise.

Jaime leaned over to Myra as Margaery took a moment to compliment everyone. "Are you alright?"

"I'm spending too much time with you," was her reply.

"Ah, so you did something foolish."

She could only nod.

"Lady Myra!" Margaery exclaimed, sounding positively excited to have laid eyes on her. "How lavish you look in that gown. Gold suits you. Don't you think so, my love?"

Myra glanced at Joffrey, who looked torn between insulting her and not disappointing his intended. She had to give Margaery credit for that; she was right when she said she had a hold on the boy.

"Certainly, Lady Margaery," was his response. Joffrey pulled out a chair for her before sitting at the other end of the table, across from Tywin. "Though I suppose anyone could do far better than the dull colors of the North."

It was barely an insult, yet somehow it stung.

Servants swiftly entered the room soon after, quickly distributing the dish for the evening. Myra could hardly keep up with the movement of them all. Though she supposed none of them wanted to be in that room any more than those seated for dinner. It was like watching a ship slowly headed for disaster.

Myra glanced over to Jaime, who was watching his plate with a slightly dismayed look. They'd been served steak, and cutting his food wasn't quite on the list of things he'd gotten a handle on. She supposed he could do it if he just laid his golden hand on the meat, but what an embarrassment that would have been.

Clearing her throat, Myra quickly cut her own food into sizable pieces before switching their plates.

Cersei smiled smugly while Joffrey giggled. Tywin's expression was unreadable.

Margaery, however, looked moved.

"I think it's wonderful what you do for him," she said, leaning across the table. Even though an empty space separated her and Cersei, the latter still subtly leaned away. "Not that I doubt your abilities, Ser Jaime, but you're on the mend, and it's good to see that you have someone to rely upon."

Jaime held up his goblet to that. "Now if only I could get her to swing a sword for me."

There was awkward laughter.

The meal went on for some time without incident, with Margaery leading most of the conversation. Jaime and Tyrion contributed on occasion, and Tywin was usually the one to end a certain topic when it was clear Joffrey was enjoying himself too much. Myra said a word or two, but she was mostly focused on the glare that Cersei had centered on her. She noticed how it would flare up when Jaime leaned too close. Had his hand still been attached, he could have touched her, and Cersei might have combusted on the spot.

A pity.

At some point, however, Tyrion had managed to engage her in conversation. Margaery had Joffrey distracted, allowing them some reprieve from his otherwise terrible nature. She hardly noticed as others entered the chamber, mostly out of the assumption that another course was going to be served, or perhaps dessert.

That was until she heard a chord struck, and a horribly familiar tune begin to play.

The Rains of Castamere.

Her breath stopped. The room disappeared. And she was there, amongst the screams and the blood and the cackling laughter of an old, dead man.

And there was Robb. How he looked at her with such affection. He tried to smile for her, because it was his job to make his sister feel safe.

We'd start a war for you, Myra.

's alright.

The table shook.

Jaime was on his feet, but it was Lord Tywin's voice she heard above the chaos of her mind.

"That is enough!" he shouted, silencing the entire room with the ferocity of his gaze. "I want you all out of my sight."

The musicians cleared the room without another sound.

Joffrey did not even complain that his little spectacle had been cut short. He looked thoroughly amused with the results. Margaery tried to smile, but she was looking at Myra with concern in her eyes. It seemed everyone knew the terrible details of the worst night of her life.

Jaime sat beside her again, and Myra's hand quickly found his wrist. She did not know how tightly she clung to it, but he never complained.

The dinner went on. Cersei contributed far more to the conversations now. Her mask had returned. The night was a victory as far as she was concerned.

Myra tried to listen to the conversations, focus on the words, on every syllable that poured out of their mouths, but try as she might, the room kept disappearing. Her heart began to beat rapidly against her chest, demanding its release. It pulsed in her ears and drowned out the words, closing off her one grasp on reality.

She drank wine, she ate food, on occasion she would briefly smile, but it was not her doing these actions. The real her was inside this façade, screaming. She was only doing what she thought a person was supposed to. Just to get her through. Keep acting and it might go away; keep acting and she might make it out in one piece.

At some point, she felt pressure on her hand. Jaime had stood. They were leaving.

One step at a time, they made it back to their chambers. If Jaime had spoken to her, she hadn't heard a thing. Just her breath and her heart, and something screaming in the back of her mind.

She clung to him the rest of the night, hiding from the horrible things in her mind.

And Jaime never let her go.

.

.

.

Suck it, D&D, Myrcella and Jaime get more than five seconds of happiness.

Also, I have taken Oathkeeper's description from the books, for any of you who might be confused about the scene. It's just so much cooler. I love that sword.

And I think time has no meaning in my story anymore, cause while I have Myrcella older, Tommen is still a little baby. But whatever, after season 8, I feel kinda validated doing anything so long as it's true to the characters. Also, it's 2020 so all bets are off. I don't care anymore. Just let me write haha.

Thanks for being so patient with me you glorious, wonderful people. I love you all. Until next time!