If Jaime fights is dependent on who else is fighting; he watches with keen green eyes, sitting with Tyrion and his elbows rested upon his knees. For now, he is content to spectate and watch other men throw themselves against magic users, demon-things, whatever might be on the field at any given time if only so he can see how they do it and learn off their mistakes.

The fortunate thing is that they don't necessitate the use of a tourney sword. He can just hack away--

"When I enter," he corrects, with the same sort of glossy confidence not unlike the gold that adorned his armor, sending a glance sidelong and then back upon the field. "I'd be awfully tempted; certainly less swords aiming to scratch it here than was true in Westoros. But better competition." Of course he'd phrase it that way.

If anyone fancies them an odd sight, then it is one that Jaime is used to. From childhood and adolescence through to spending more time with his fellow Lannisters upon Cersei's marrying into his liege's family, Jaime would more readily allow double-takes to slide off've him than he ever did names like 'Kingslayer'.