edge_of_forever | (no subject)

It had been days, weeks if he had counted correctly, though, with constant sun or moon the days seemed to blur from one to the next -- connected by a string of endless confusion and incredible indifference and apathy. He had lived to see a year come and go in the dank cells of Riverrun, he had faced Robb Stark and his direwolf, he had lost the most beloved thing to him -- his sword hand and now he was on a ship with no sails that traversed an ocean of black instead of blue and none of it made sense to him.

Of the few pleasant thoughts he had of his father was the night his mother died giving birth to Tyrion. Casterly Rock had been a riot that night, maids running in and out of the room with hot water and clean sheets, he had to hold back Cersei from running into the room. I want to see, Jaime! I'll have babies one day, I want to know! She battled with him but he didn't let her, father would be angry if she barged in. But, later that night after the screams of his mother had faded away and died out to the sounds of Tyrion's tears Jaime was taken out onto the balcony of his father's room. Tywin's heavy had rested on Jaime's shoulder and he explained that his mother was gone, that she had gone off into the stars to be with the gods. It had been the only time Jaime had seen his father vulnerable and now that day meant nothing, the stars were a place like any other with comings and goings and among those coming and going ... was not his mother.

He had made no friends in this place. He didn't understand it and if he had spent a year in the captivity of Robb Stark, he could survive a year here -- it was far more pleasant than any cell he'd ever seen. It was a cell nonetheless and he wandered its halls like a ghost that went mostly unseen and unheard from and although that image of his mother in the stars had been ripped from him by this place there was something incredibly pleasant about watching those stars slowly creep by and from the observation deck he saw them best. As he paced toward the enormous floor to ceiling window his arms came behind his back, his only hand gripping just above the scared flesh of where his right hand had once been.

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"You don't seem like the sort to have ever seen an actual prison, ser," his golden flicked eyes darted back toward Mycroft, his stare bitter and hard. "I'm constantly amused, family trait," even if they all showed it differently.

"Never from the inside," Mycroft replied to that, insinuating by his tone that the other must have. Mycroft was certain that the other had indeed been a prisoner once, not too long ago.

His grin persisted and a slight pivot came of his rubber soles, turning him slightly toward Mycroft. "It's far more amusing when you're on the outside of the cage," Jaime had been on both ends and he was sure he never found Riverrun as fun as he found King's Landing when he was in control.

"Depends on what's on the outside. 'Amusing' isn't the word I'd use for it," Mycroft retorted, still gazing at the stars.

As a Lannister he could find something witty to say about anything, it was genetic. A rather strong gene in his generation especially, though, by far Tyrion had the most talent. Nevertheless, a halfhearted smirk graced his lips once again. "When your subordinates are on the outside and your enemies on the inside ... I find it amusing," those wide shoulders rose for another disinterested nod.

"Ah," Mycroft said, and it was a conclusion and verdict in one syllable. "We are from different world, then. I find things are seldom black and white."

"Things are black and white where I come from, you're either with us or against us," Jaime retorted with just as little interest.