[Jaime is not of the city guard. Nor is he interested in playing the hero. Nor does he care to spend any great amount of time in Heropa. Working under contract for the ambassador of Maurtia Falls occasionally sees him elsewhere than that city, which means that he finds himself here on business, and not his own.
It is also business that does not involve any of the parties causing the commotion. The noise is loud enough that as he approaches from the east, Jaime is already considering diverting his course, lest he find himself somehow involved. When he is yet a good two blocks away, he finds himself involved anyways: the thief, fleeing with his head bent low, runs straight into Jaime.
It is instinct that makes Jaime grab hold of the man before he can flee. Their own brief argument does not last very long, nor does their scuffle. The thief drops the bag that he carries when Jaime twists his arm--his one good hand is strong enough that the thief yells in pain--and he's running off again just a few moments later, leaving Jaime to collect the abandoned bag.
Now that he has it, he might as well deliver it to the wronged party. It does him no good to keep it. All the same, Jaime is grimacing slightly as he comes around the corner of the alley, an expression which first deepens when he sees the costumed heroes--and then clears, as he sees Myrcella.
If Jaime were to confess that Myrcella is the last person in Westeros that he would expect to find here, it would not be entirely true. Certainly the Seven Kingdoms are full of girls both highborn and common that Jaime would never expect to see. The fact that his own blood is on that list speaks perhaps more of him than it does of Myrcella. He was never much interested in any child. A convenient disinterest, given how very Lannister all of Cersei's children look.
All the same, seeing Myrcella standing in this dim alleyway feels a little like being punched in the chest, and Jaime finds himself--as he so rarely is--at a loss for words. To his fortune, he is still holding the bag in his hand, and the woman soon spots him.
That's mine! she declares, with satisfaction, and shoulders past the costumed heroes to reclaim it. Her clear path will also make Jaime plain to Myrcella. She may not even recognize me. When did he last see her? Quite long ago, before he rode from King's Landing. When I had two hands, and was not wearing the strange garb of this country.]
Myrcella.
[--is about all he can manage, witless fool that he is. Give him a moment and he will surely recover, come up with something better.]
quietly screaming in heropa
It is also business that does not involve any of the parties causing the commotion. The noise is loud enough that as he approaches from the east, Jaime is already considering diverting his course, lest he find himself somehow involved. When he is yet a good two blocks away, he finds himself involved anyways: the thief, fleeing with his head bent low, runs straight into Jaime.
It is instinct that makes Jaime grab hold of the man before he can flee. Their own brief argument does not last very long, nor does their scuffle. The thief drops the bag that he carries when Jaime twists his arm--his one good hand is strong enough that the thief yells in pain--and he's running off again just a few moments later, leaving Jaime to collect the abandoned bag.
Now that he has it, he might as well deliver it to the wronged party. It does him no good to keep it. All the same, Jaime is grimacing slightly as he comes around the corner of the alley, an expression which first deepens when he sees the costumed heroes--and then clears, as he sees Myrcella.
If Jaime were to confess that Myrcella is the last person in Westeros that he would expect to find here, it would not be entirely true. Certainly the Seven Kingdoms are full of girls both highborn and common that Jaime would never expect to see. The fact that his own blood is on that list speaks perhaps more of him than it does of Myrcella. He was never much interested in any child. A convenient disinterest, given how very Lannister all of Cersei's children look.
All the same, seeing Myrcella standing in this dim alleyway feels a little like being punched in the chest, and Jaime finds himself--as he so rarely is--at a loss for words. To his fortune, he is still holding the bag in his hand, and the woman soon spots him.
That's mine! she declares, with satisfaction, and shoulders past the costumed heroes to reclaim it. Her clear path will also make Jaime plain to Myrcella. She may not even recognize me. When did he last see her? Quite long ago, before he rode from King's Landing. When I had two hands, and was not wearing the strange garb of this country.]
Myrcella.
[--is about all he can manage, witless fool that he is. Give him a moment and he will surely recover, come up with something better.]