Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF/Game of Thrones


Jaime

"Brave of them to face us on land." Jaime acknowledged as he looked towards the port of Lordsport. Looking at the distant port town, it didn't look at all that impressive to be sure. A far cry from the brilliance that was Lannisport. It was a mixture of stone and wood, but he heard in the distant past, that when Robert had made his landing and burned the town to the ground during Greyjoy's first rebellion, the entire town had been made of wood, "I thought the ironborn drew their strength from the sea."

His king and only trueborn nephew glanced at him from where he stood, "Stannis destroyed whatever remained of the Iron Fleet, along with many of the other raiding ships of the ironborn. They can only fight us on land now."

In the distant, he could hear shouts of 'Fire' among the warships of the royal and Redwynne fleets. He didn't need to look to know that the voices belonged to the crew members of the war galleys filled with trebuchets, sending burning projectiles into the town that laid in front of him.

He could already see the damage the initial bombardment had wrought to the town. Buildings were on fire, houses, taverns and inns were crumbled underneath the weight of the bombardment. He wondered if this sight had been the same when Robert had made his own attack or whether it had been different.

Jaime didn't know.

He knew that if he had joined Robert in putting down the rebellion, he would have been among the first to make it ashore and to meet the ironborn in combat. Cersei and blood, that was all he could live for. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, Cersei had been able to convince him to stay behind in King's Landing with her.

It had been a magical time. Their love making had been passionate, lustful and unfettered. It was very rare to have the Red Keep to themselves...of course they still had to be careful of the Spider and the other inhabitants such as poor old Jon Arryn.

"Something on your mind?" His nephew asked, after noticing the far away look that had come onto Jaime's face.

Jaime shook his head, his golden hair moving with each movement. He gave a cutting smile to his nephew, "No. I'm finding myself relishing for the combat that is about to happen. It's been a while."

His nephew raised an eyebrow before a small smile came to his face, "Well, if you were worrying about the threat of being captured, I wouldn't worry too much." The jibe made a few in hearing range chuckle and smile to themselves, even among his new kingsguard brethren that were with the king. Jaime patted himself on the back at showing his composure at the jibe.

He smiled, "I see Your Grace likes to make japes."

"From the Lannister side of the family, I'm sure."

At that, Jaime couldn't help but agree with. The Lannisters did have their fun with words, as long as the mockery wasn't being directed towards his father and his sister. They never did have much for when they were being mocked, and perhaps himself, sometimes.

"You will not be joining the battle yourself?" He asked, curious as to why his nephew was sure that he wasn't going to be captured.

"Maybe, maybe not." The king said with a shrug of his shoulders. He glanced in the direction of the besieged Lordsport, "Grandfather wasn't approving of me coming out here in the first place. 'You have loyal and leal lords for that. Tarly and Stannis, to start with.' He had said."

Jaime raised an eyebrow, "And what did you say?"

"This, and that." The king said in reply, "I was quite insistent, might have thrown out the atypical, 'I am the king' line a few times perhaps." He signalled at the captain of the boat, "Give the signal, begin the landings."

The captain stood straight as he saluted, "Yes, Your Grace." The captain relayed the order to the ships signaller who waved a signal flag to the ships opposite and the message was relayed along the invasion fleet of the royal army.

One by one, row boats were lowered into the waters, row boats filled to the brim with soldiers bearing the colours of the Houses of the westerlands. Jaime even noticed the odd House bearing sigils and colours that belonged to Houses that called the north home. He supposed that the Young Wolf had been unable to get to Theon Greyjoy back in Lannisport. He didn't find himself envying to be the young squid, more likely than not, Greyjoy would find himself being on the receiving end of that great big beast Stark kept around him.

He remembered the beast stalking towards him whilst he was in captivity. It was something fierce to behold, that was for sure, but if he had not been shackled and underfed and had steel in his hand, Jaime liked to think that he would have walked away from that encounter with a nice new wolf skin pelt, good for a coat or a rug or as a decorative trophy.

But his attention was taken by the sight of a sigil that he had only come to see recently in the past few weeks. It was a setting sun with nine rays of light stretching out from around it on a black field. The 'Sunset sigil' as his king had called it. According to the king, it represented Westeros and each of the rays represented the seven kingdoms and two provinces underneath the control of the Iron Throne.

It was the flag of Westeros, according to the king. Something for people to rally behind.

The so-called flag of Westeros was flown above the royal standard of House Baratheon by soldiers dressed in uniform black and gold, whether it be leather armour or steel, it was black and gold with the flag boldly placed on the front of the boiled leather or steel plate armour.

It was certainly bold.

He wondered what the other lords thought of this, A national army...full of professional soldiers, like those of the Free Cities. How Caspian had been able to find the gold for this was a mystery to him, but whatever kept him amused was of no interest to Jaime.

Well, at least they seemed trained and professional. They had marched at suitable pace, in step with the beat of drums, but it was too early to tell exactly how this 'royal army' was going to handle itself or how it was going to be received.

Jaime watched as the first wave of soldiers made their way closer to land and was surprised that they had yet to come underneath any form of return fire, whether that be arrows or artillery of the defenders themselves. Then he remembered that they were fighting against ironborn.

Being the poor savages they were, they didn't understand the finer intricacies of strategy and tactics, like how using a bow and arrow and even crossbows helped in a battle rather than a close quarters weapon like a sword or axe. Even someone like him, someone who loved the relish of being amidst combat would certainly have ordered archers to loose their arrows when the landing boats had come within range.

Then he realised that the town of Lordsport was still under heavy bombardment from the siege weapons aboard the larger war galleys. Any fool with an arrow would have to be brave indeed to step out amidst the carnage that was happening to loose an arrow, I suppose they would have to wait till the bombardment is over. Was there any defender in the town anyway? A good a time as any to stop any amphibious landing was when the enemy was landing their soldiers, they would be ill-prepared and unorganised to repel an attack.

But once more, he remembered these were ironmen. Tactics and strategy didn't seem to be their forte, either wise they wouldn't have even dared to make an enemy of the entirety of the Iron Throne once more.

He eyed at the row boats as they neared land. He found his sword hand twitching and his blood began to pump. He wanted to be on one of those boats, leading man into battle. He glanced at his nephew and opened his mouth.

"Yes."

Jaime stopped for a moment and blinked. It took him a moment to get his wits back about him, "Yes?" He repeated.

The king motioned towards Lordsports, "You can lead the next wave." He said, casting a look in his direction, "I can see it on your face. You want to be in battle. So, yes, you can join the next wave. Although try not to get captured, I don't think the ironborn are in a capturing mood."

Jaime could feel that the smile on his face was somewhat tight, but he smiled nonetheless. He didn't at all care for the japes about his capture, It only happened once. Am I ever going to live that down? And considering his luck, perhaps not. Mayhaps it was better to be japed about being captured than about Aerys. He didn't know which he preferred, Neither. He found himself thinking, I care for neither. He bowed at his nephew, "Thank you, Your Grace." With a flourish of a turn that sent his white cape fluttering about in the delicate sea breeze, he made his way towards the nearest row boat.

One of the soldiers that was awaiting to board the row boat noticed his approach and his face was in awe. He had seen such an expression many times, especially among the younger men that thought of him a legend, "Ser Jaime!" The lad cried out, excitedly, "Are you going to be joining us?"

The other soldiers began to notice Jaime's approach and began to chatter happily among themselves. Jaime gave them all a cool confident smile, the kind of smile that gave people the impression that he was someone that they could lead into combat, "Yes, Yes I am." He slotted himself onto the row boat, ahead of one of the soldiers. He raised his sword into the air, "Now who's ready to slaughter some squids?" Not one of his best lines, but it did the job. The men roared and suddenly they were clamouring to be aboard the row boats.

For a moment, Jaime worried that they would cause the small boat to tip over and fall into the cold waters below, where he would surely drown, but he was somewhat surprised when he noticed that despite being somewhat over-eager to get aboard, they were still in a night and at the very least orderly line.

He was surprised by the sheer discipline of the lot. It was almost reminiscent of his father's guards that were located throughout Casterly Rock. So disciplined that they could be honestly mistaken for very life like statues.

The row boat touched the waters with a slight splash, spraying water aboard it's small confines before the oars were brought out and the man started rowing. With each passing moment, land became closer and closer.

The bombardment had stopped when the first boat had made landfall and their were soldiers spilling onto the port and beach, charging into the town, Fools. Jaime thought. The town might have been burning and they hadn't seen anyone, but who was to say that their were no ironborn lurking deeper in the town for an ambush? It was better to organise their lines first before recklessly charging into the unknown.

For a moment, Jaime had to stop thinking and realise how much like father he had sounded then and there. It was surprising and certainly rather disconcerting.

He liked to think of himself as his own man.

As they got closer, they passed empty row boats that were making their way back to the galleys to pick up even more soldiers. He saw the first of the royal army soldiers disembark and unlike the others, they organised themselves. They set up rally points with serjeants organising the lower ranked footmen into groups with remarkable ease. It was if everybody knew where they were supposed to be and who they were supposed to be with.

Spray from the water washed upon his face and he could smell salt in the air and taste it as well in his mouth.

The boat jarringly came to a halt as it made land. Jaime was the first one of the boat as he jumped onto land, drawing his sword as he did so. Behind him, the sound of feet hitting land or splashing water could be heard.

He glanced behind him and was rather surprised that the men weren't following him, but instead, like the others that he had seen that flew the banner of the royal army, they were organising themselves, with serjeants taking control of the situation. He eyed them for a moment and wondered whether he should wait for them, then he thought better about it.

They might have been happy to loiter around, but he wanted a fight and he wasn't going to wait for it. He saw some soldiers in the livery of House Crakehall and he decided to follow them. He wondered what Lyle was doing and whether he had been among the first to land. He certainly hadn't seen him or heard him, so he might have been elsewhere, More than likely, he had been first to land and lead the charge. He smiled to himself and wondered how he hadn't been able to hear his old friend. A man as large as him also had an equally loud voice.

The thrill of coming battle had reached the Crakehall men that he had joined up with him. None of them had noticed the knight in white armour suddenly appearing among their group as they charged forth into the burning town.

Hundreds, thousands of pairs of feet thundered across the wet ground, charging forth deeper into the port town. In the distance, cresting atop a small hill, a small, square keep made from stone overlooked the burning town. The seat of House Botley no doubt and one of the principal targets for capture. If battle was to be made, that was the more likely place for it to happen.

But Jaime wasn't one for sieges. They were never his cup of tea to be honest. He preferred to meet men in open battle rather than scale walls or wait for them to starve out. At least by the size of the keep, it wouldn't take for much for the keep to fall.

Jaime by now had lost the amount of time that he had been with the Crakehall levies. Their battle songs and cries had died down, as they ventured deeper into Lordsport without meeting any sort of resistance, even an ironborn smallfolk or one of their so-called 'thralls'. He was beginning to wonder if anybody had been inhabiting the town.

The large group of men turned a corner in their path and Jaime had the telltale sounds of men dying and steel piercing flesh. His heart pumped and his hand, which had been idly resting on his sword hand immediately unsheathed his sword from it's rest. The grasping sound it made as it escaped from it's prison of soft-worked leather, music to his ears.

He nearly sprinted around the corner and was near met with the point of a spear into his face from an ironborn man who seemed rather pleased with himself by the smile on the raider's dirty face. Having always liked seeing the faces of those he always disappointed, Jaime savoured the man's expression when he noticed that his prey had quickly moved his head out of the way, batted away the spear and then proceeded to remove the man's head from his very own shoulders with a deft looping swing of his castle-forged steel.

Before the man's head had even touched the ground, Jaime was smiling like a mad man and had already felled two more men with blinding speed. Behind him, the small gap that he had man with the killing of the two spear men was slowly being wedged even wider by the stream of Crakehall levies who were following the knight in white.

Now this was more like it. No more jogging around the town, wondering when and where he was going to fight. No more standing guard to a king that he might one day kill. He had already killed one, why not another? It wouldn't make that much of a difference.

Cersei had her charms and her ways of making life interesting and passing the time. Their meetings, filled full of lust and excitement made the world whirl and spin. But even then, that was different to the excitement and thrill he found himself in battle.

The knowledge that one wrong move and misstep would lead to his death, brought a different kind of excitement. An excitement that he had difficult describing or even reproducing. Tourneys didn't do it. They brought their own kind of pleasure, but no the kind that he was filling in this wild, unhinged death of battle that was called war.

In all honesty, he didn't know which he preferred, Cersei or this. If asked, or if the choice was ever given to him, he didn't know which one of the two he would be ever be able to give up. Hopefully, and if he had anything to do with it, neither.

Crakehall men charged and roared as they met in battle. Many had discarded their spears to their ground, the close encounters of their battle making it difficult to use them efficiently. Others had dropped them merely because they had a body stuck on the end of them and it was all rather difficult to pull free the point when in the midst of battle.

When the spear was lost, they wielded all sorts of weapons more suitable to the task at hand, rusty short swords of poor quality, knives, daggers, axes and some had even gone as far to pick up the weapons of the dead ironborn they had killed.

Jaime's blade bounced of the wooden shield of some dirt squid, chipping away at the penmanship and wood underneath. Underneath his helmet, Jaime tsked, any other day and his blade would have sheared the flimsy shield into two. Perhaps it was age, or perhaps he had been lacking with his training. One of the two more than likely, If Barristan could keep on going for as long as he did, it should be possible for me as well.

This time, his next strike found purchase as his blade dug into the neck of the squid. With a wet gurgling sound barely audible at the battle surrounding them, the squid fell to the floor and died, tears welling at the end of his eyes.

Jaime had already moved onto his next opponent. Another squid with a face he won't recognise. Before moving in to strike, he found himself jerked backwards from someone pulling at his cloak that had lost it's colour and been painted red and brown. He tripped over something, more than likely a body and fell to the muddy ground, Well, this is bad.

A man came into view, hefting a long axe into the air to bring it down. Jaime wasn't having any of that though. He quickly brought his sword up and felled the man to the ground by taking out his left leg from beneath the knee.

The kingslayer quickly rose to his feet as the man cried out in pain, bloodied hands moving to the stump and trying to stem the bleeding. One man among many who were suffering similar fates throughout the town no doubt.

Jaime moved for the finishing blow but found himself not having the need to as the man was soon trampled upon a by a new wave of troops, wearing colours he had seen much in recent times, uniform black and gold. Shrugging, Jaime followed the reinforcements as they slowly but surely pushed back the ironmen defenders deeper into the town.

The ironborn were soon being pushed back, even as more and more of their men entered the fray from whatever holes they had been hiding in. Jaime had to admit, this royal army of westeros was making a rather good show of themselves.

They thoroughly kept a disciplined shield wall as they advanced, spears out giving the impression of some of abominable hedgehog with metal spines of death. Whenever a hole was opened up when one of them fell, the man behind them would quickly move up to cover it up.

Jaime watched in fascination for a moment. The way they handled themselves and the way they fought, for a moment, he was wondering if his nephew was trying to recreate the old lock-step legions of the old and destroyed Ghiscari Empire and the more recent Unsullied eunuchs.

The kingslayer eventually shrugged his shoulders and began to make his way deeper into battle, Well, whatever keeps my darling nephew occupied. He made a point to remove his clock from his armour, lest he want a repeat of what had happened just before.

More ironborn surged from the small streets, smashing themselves against the royal army's metal points. The weight eventually made the shield wall buckle and gaps began to form. Spears were discarded as short swords were drawn and man engaged themselves in fierce close quarters battle.

The ironborn fought with no discipline or skill, merely with the tenacity and ruthlessness of berserker warriors. The soldiers relied on their discipline and skill as soldiers rather than warriors. It was always said that soldiers won wars, but warriors won battles.

So their victory was a given was it? Jaime liked to not pay attention to such things. More often than not, they were made by man who had never stepped onto a battlefield their entire lives, No doubt some old maester in the Citadel said that. I would be surprised other wise.

"Kingslayer!" A man roared.

Jaime just had time to turn before he found himself tackled in the waist and through the window of a burning building. He threw several gauntleted fists at the man's head before he relinquished his hold and rolled away from him.

Jaime scrambled to his feet, taking deep breaths in. That tackle had knocked the wind out of him. He was more surprised that someone had tackled him, after announcing their presence rather than merely stabbing him. Breathing deeply, Jaime took a moment to look at the man. Tall to be sure, perhaps taller than him, with a long face and simple looking armour. He noted the sword that he held in his hand. It was of a smoky grey texture, almost black in colour. Valyrian steel.

"And you are?" Jaime asked.

The man with the Valyrian steel blade spit some blood to the side. Outside, the sounds of battle continued to rage on, "Ser Harras Harlow of Grey Garden."

Jaime took a moment to peruse his mind, "Never heard of you. Although, I have to say, I'm rather surprised to find a knight among the company of the ironborn. Don't you lot worship some Drowned God or some sort like that?" The heat of the burning building was slowly but surely starting to get to him. He could feel himself beginning to warm up ever so slightly.

And the way the building creaked and groaned wasn't at all helping his hidden anxiety. He could already see his grave engravings now, Here lies Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard, crushed to death in a building during the battle for Lordsport. Not exactly how he wanted to be remembered.

"Some, but not all." The squid knight said in reply. He shifted his grey blade ever so slightly and prepared himself, "Today you die."

Jaime could only smile, "Oh, we both know that's not going to happen." He cast an eye at the sword once more and his smile grew wider, "If you give me that sword, I may think twice about making you live. Father has always wanted a Valyrian blade in the family for a while now. That was the one thing he could never get." Not even for all of the gold in Casterly Rock or the promises of Lannister marriages had been enough to convince petty lords into giving up their precious family heirlooms.

The knight's face tightened, "You can try." He charged forth, sword brought up for a strike.

Jaime lowered himself and held his sword in a defensive position, ready to meet the strike of his attacker. Ser Harras swung his sword from above, aiming to split the kingslayer from clavicle to navel, but with a valyrian blade in hand, no doubt the man would be able to split him from head to groin more like.

Jaime had always been quick on his feet and it showed. His sword shot up to parry the blade and the dance of death began. He drove at the Harlaw knight, the sword in his hand alive with each movement of the hand. Ser Harras more than made a fair account for himself as he was driven back, and Jaime wondered if the man knew what he had got himself into, choosing to fight him of all people.

There was a reason many thought Jaime the finest swordsman in the land.

He didn't let up his attack as he continued to drive Ser Harras back with each swift and following blow. Every time the man turned one attack after the other, another would follow not long afterwards. Ser Harras was soon being drowned in a storm of lightning quick cuts, deadly thrusts, and fast strokes. The swords continued to dance and kiss in naked delight, sparks flying with each blow.

Ser Harras turned an overhand blow and quickly transitioned to drive his valyrian blade accurately into the weak armour between the neck and helmet. Jaime slipped away, but berated himself for getting too into his fight as he felt the slight trickle of blood from where the tip of the blade had just been able to graze him.

Perhaps it was the fatigue. He had been fighting for a while now, giving himself little time to take a moment of respite to catch his breath. He stopped for a moment as he noticed his opponent was not advancing on him, and seemed like he was of the same mind as he also took a moment to catch his breath.

"Not half bad for a squid." He acknowledged, "Could be worse, but much better than I expected from you."

Ser Harras' long face hardened slightly, his eyes watching him warily, "I'm no squid, kingslayer. A scythe more like."

"Is that so?" Truth be told, Jaime couldn't careless what he was. The man was keeping up with him and he had been able to survive for this long against him. That alone, he supposed, was worth some sort of praise. Even if it came from him.

Jaime looked at his blade and noticed for the first time the numerous notches and chips that had appeared. He really should have known better that even a sword made from the best of castle-forged steel really wouldn't be able to stand much of an onslaught from a valyrian blade of all things.

He whirled his sword in his hand and realised that if things continued as they were, he won't have much of a sword left if this fight was not resolved in a timely manner, Oh well, what will be, will be. He drove at the knight once more and pressed the attack. The knight was on the defensive once more. Time slept when swords danced together. It might have been mere minutes, it might have been hours, but Jaime lost track of time and at times when he was aware of his surroundings, the sounds of battle outside seemed to be in the distance and the building they were in seemed to be on it's last legs.

It creaked more, and each creak sounded like the death cry of a man at the end of his life, trying desperately to cling to life. Jaime pinned Ser Harras to a support foundation and drove at him, but the knight continued to acknowledged that he was outmatched and blocked a strike that would have opened his gut and spilt his entrails onto the floor.

With a defiance that was irksome and somewhat respectable, the knight drove at Jaime, making him back pedal, even if it was for a small moment. A floor footing came loose and Jaime near tripped on it, but was able to catch himself before he found himself sprawled on the floor and open for a death blow, but the split had still given the knight an advantage.

He drove at Jaime, his blows even more fierce, with strength that bloomed from nowhere. Each heavy blow rained down on Jaime, and he could feel the strength behind them jarring his bones. The kingslayer gritted his teeth as he weathered through the blows before parrying a strike that could have seen the end of him.

He returned with a powerful wide arc of a swing that Ser Harras met with his valyrian blade and the two blades met in a resounding clang. Something snapped and clattered on the ground. Jaime sighed, "Right, valyrian, really, should have remembered about that." He berated himself as he noticed his blade had finally succumbed to the strikes of superior still.

Ser Harras did not take a moment to take his advantage, "This is the end for you, Kingslayer!" He declared as he drove forth, prepared to strike the killing blow.

Jaime went for his dirk, "Whatever happened to chivalry and honour? The Sword of the Morning would have at least offered me a chance to get another blade." Memories of a time long ago flashed into his mind, of a great knight, of someone who he aspired to be, fighting against of what he had become.

"You are not the Sword of the Morning." Was Ser Harras' retort.

That I do know. Ser Harras came at him, swinging his greyish black blade in an arc, aiming to take him apart from the side. Jaime brought his dirk to block the blade as best as he could, his broken sword still in his other hand. He belatedly realised he really should have brought a shield at the very least.

Ser Harras' attack was a feint. His sword suddenly changed trajectory and swung downwards, Jaime's eyebrows shot up in alarm. He reacted as quickly as he could as he tried to move his leg away from the way of the blade whilst at the same time, he threw his dirk at the knight of Grey Garden.

Jaime did just about enough, but not quite enough as the valyrian blade bit into his leg, but did not take it. Red filled his vision as he lunged at the surprised knight of Grey Garden who had found himself paying the price for wearing little armour as the dirk was lodged in his shoulder.

He noticed too late as Jaime tackled him into a nearby foundation support with a force that splintered the already battered support to roughly crash into the ground. The tumbling building soon followed, smothering them in burnt wood and flames.

XxX

Jaime felt like he was a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders. To be more specific, the weight of the world on his back. No matter how hard he tried to push himself up, to get to his own feet, the pressure on his back refused to budge at all.

And that didn't include the searing pain he felt in his leg.

With nothing better to do, the Kingslayer allowed the darkness that swum at the edge of his vision to take him. He might die, or he might live, it was all up to the gods now.

When he awoke, he didn't know how long it had been, but he could definitely say that the weight of the world had certainly been lifted from his back...but it was difficult to make a single thought of his stick. The world swam and spun. All the colours in the world mixed and danced together, creating strange colours that he had never seen before.

Then he heard the voices, distant sounding, but closer than he thought, "That doesn't look good." One of the voices said. It was familiar, but with the way he felt, he couldn't put a face, let alone a name to the voice.

"The corruption is spreading, Your Grace." Another said, a woman this time. She had a strange affliction to her voice that sounded like an accent. An accent he could only place from across the narrow sea. And did she say, 'Your Grace'? Then the other voice probably belonged to his nephew, "If it's not removed, it might very kill him."

If what was not removed? Jaime wanted to know. He certainly did not like the direction this conversation was going. He wanted nothing removed. Death was a sweeter option than life as a cripple. He tried to speak, but his mouth was dry, this throat parched, and what came out was barely a notable grunt of something.

"He's awake." Some genius noted.

"Ser Jaime, can you hear me?" The woman spoke once more. He tried to speak, but once more, he found his voice had left him. The woman continued speaking, "We have to amputate your right leg, Ser Jaime. The corruption in it has already spread and if it continues, losing a leg will be the least of your worries."

No. Jaime wanted to say. Nothing was to be removed. Let death take him. The life of a cripple was not a life for him, Woman, touch my leg and I'll kill you with my very own hands. He wanted to tell her, but his voice was still lost on him.

"I don't think he would like that." His nephew spoke. Their was an infliction in his voice, but what, he didn't know. After a moment of pause, he spoke once more, "Remove it." No! Jaime struggled to get up, he thrashed around like some new born babe as he tried to stand, "Hold him down!" The king ordered.

Jaime felt hands on him, pushing him down on whatever he was lying down on, "Your Grace?" The woman questioned.

"Take it off. Bring him some milk of the poppy or whatever it is he needs for the operation." The king said, before adding, almost as an afterthought. Jaime did not want any of those two potions. He knew what they did and the sound of the conversation had not been encouraging at all, "I doubt he'll like me much after this, when he regains his wits."

"At least, he'll be alive, Your Grace." The woman with the accent said, in reply.

XxX

Jaime hobbled into the king's tent, his face aflame with rage. His brothers that had been guarding the king's tent had seem reluctant to let him enter, but when he neared, they did nothing. Perhaps they thought, just merely because he was missing a leg, it left him harmless. Harmless enough that he wouldn't dare bring harm on the man that had given the order to make him a cripple.

He was most certainly not.

Just because he only had one leg, that most certainly did not mean that he was harmless. He was still Jaime Lannister, the realm's greatest swordsman. And he still had both hands.

Jaime hobbled into the king's tent, his crutch helping him keep his balancing as he hobbled along. The king looked up, "Uncle Jai-."

Jaime cut him off before he could say his platitudes, "You did this to me!" He all but roared as he pointed vigorously at the stump where his leg used to be, "You made me a cripple!"

"Better a cripple than dead."

"Death would have been a greater mercy than..." He struggled for words. His rage nearly made him lose his balance before righting himself and the crutch in his one arm, This is revenge for the Stark boy. Jaime was sure of it. He knew the king and Robb Stark had had words in the Red Keep. He could very well have listened to his theory of him having pushed Bran Stark out of that tower. Which he did. He was not going to deny it, "This!"

"You are not the first man to lose a leg, I'm sure." His nephew replied, all with the calmness that reminded him of his father. All he lacked was the gold side burns and the green eyes flecked with gold, "And the ones I've seen have survived."

"On the streets! As beggars!" Jaime snapped back.

"And you are a Lannister." The king replied, "You have all the gold of Casterly Rock at your beck and call." His eyes seemed to look into the distance for a moment. A flicker of a smile seemed to brush over his lips, "I'm sure grandfather will love to have you back as his heir...Uncle Tyrion probably won't like that all that much to be honest."

Jaime gnashed his teeth, "You have my leg cut off so that you can sent me back to Casterly Rock?" He refused to believe it would be that simple.

His nephew sighed, a whisker of annoyance in his tone as he spoke, "No. I had your leg cut off because it had been corrupted. If the corruption had spread, you would not have been long in the world for much longer. It took us a while to dig you out of that building you had fought in."

Jaime remembered his fight with the squid knight. The memories of that moment rushing to the forefront of his mind. His rage slowly dissipated as he remembered the thrill, the rush, and the sound of his blood pumping, then the bite of the valyrian steel into his leg.

And all the rage came boiling back to the front.

The loss of his leg was as much as Caspian's, the nurse that had cut his leg off and Ser Harris or whatever his name was, "And of the squid I was fighting?"

"Dead." The king replied and Jaime was glad of it. The king continued, "I have to say, it was a rather bloody mess the moment we found him. It seemed you had stabbed him repeatedly with your broken sword." The king got up from his seat and went to the side and brought something up. It was a sword, valyrian. Jaime remembered that sword well, "Nightfall, I believe it's called. I saved it for you, as a prize. Sure enough grandfather will probably have this sword re-forged and all that, to make it a proper Lannister sword."

Jaime looked at the sword not for a second longer, "Keep it. I don't need it." Why would he want the sword that had started this sequence of events that had led to the loss of his leg? How can I fight as a cripple? "What will you do about this?" He asked, rocking his stump, "I'm sure you have plans to kick me out of your Kingsguard." There was venom in his voice, but he did not care. Cersei would never come to Casterly Rock with him, she would stay in King's Landing with all of her brood, "A kingsguard serves for life." Even if they are missing a leg.

"Joffrey changed that. A precedent if you would."

"And Ser Barristan shall be the only Kingsguard to be relieved of his duty. I'm closing that door." He cared not for the vows or the oaths. He had already broken so many, so what little value did they matter? "I still have both my hands. I can fight with one leg."

The king shrugged, seemingly not caring one way or another, "Suppose you could get a prosthetic, like some of those sailors I've seen in the inns and taverns in King's Landing, Lannisport and the likes."

Jaime had also seen those very same sailors, missing a leg and walking around with a wooden peg for a leg. He stomach turned. He was sure news of his crippling had already spread throughout the camp and if people hadn't known, they surely would by now, having him seen hobble towards the king's tent in what he would like to call a dignified manner, "Gold, I hope. It wouldn't do for a Lannister to have anything else."

The king smiled at that, "Wouldn't do at all." He concurred.

Jaime was still angry. Angry at his nephew. At the nurse who had taken his leg. At the world, but he decided to forget for now. Forgive? No, but forget for now, A Lannister always pay his debts. He told himself, "What of the battle?"

"it went by as well as you would think. The ironmen were outnumbered. They took their pound of flesh, but we took more." A gentle wind breezed into the king's tent as Ser Guyard entered. The king looked up, "Is it time?" He asked.

Jaime was confused, what time was it exactly? Ser Guyard bowed before straightening himself up, "Yes, Your Grace. The men are formed and ready."

The king nodded and began to make his way towards the exit of the tent. He signalled for Jaime to follow him and Jaime did as his king commanded. He noticed that apart from them, they were very little soldiers in the camp.

Then he realised that when he had been making his way towards the king's tent, all the soldiers had been going somewhere. It didn't take him long for him to realise where somewhere was.

They were still on Pyke, but they had made camp on the outskirts of Lordsport. In the distance, in the direction of the castle Pyke itself, he could see a huge pillar of black smoke rising into the sky. It didn't take him long for Jaime to realise what had happened, "You burnt Pyke to the ground?"

"It's a tad bit difficult to burn stone, unless you had dragonfire and wildfire of course. Luckily for us, we had wildfire. Not so much as lucky for the people still inside."

"All of them?" Jaime said in surprise. In all honesty, he didn't think his nephew had it in him to burn people alive. It almost sounded like something his father would do. Perhaps he hadn't given his father enough credit. It seemed as if he had moulded himself a suitable heir after all. It was a shame Joffrey had to die to ruin all his good work.

His nephew looked at him, a quizzical eyebrow raised up, "Don't be silly. What would their deaths their have served?"

"Sent a message? Don't defy the Iron Throne and all that?" Jaime was confused to say the least.

"Oh don't worry, Balon Greyjoy, Theon Greyjoy and Victarion Greyjoy will die. So will the Iron Islands, but I prefer to do it in King's Landing, my seat of power. In front of the entire court, so the message can be heard all the way from the north to Dorne."

"I think burning them inside their castle would have been enough of a message. Harren the Black certainly got it. When Aegon burned Harrenhal atop Balerion the Black Dread."

"Not exactly the message I want to sent, uncle. You'll see soon enough.' They continued to make their way through the camp before reaching it's outskirts. To his surprise, he saw many of the levies and soldiers that had fought underneath the royal banner standing in formation, at the forefront the soldiers of the newly minted royal army.

The king didn't waste time and made his way to the front, where Jaime noticed were ten poles rooted into the hard, unforgiving land and tied around them, ten people tied so that they could look behind them, but leaving the bare back of their flesh pointed in the direction of the soldiers of the royal army.

The king cleared his throat, and spoke as loudly as he could. It was his lucky day, the wind was blowing in the direction they were standing and it carried his voice, "These men you see in front of you, the men who fought beside you stand as they are today accused of committing the crime of rape. The standard crime for rape is gelding, but for those who serve in the royal army, it's...slightly different. I created the royal army so that they could serve as the shield of the realm and the realm is the people that live in it. Me, you, sons, daughters, fathers, mothers and everyone else. Even including these poor fellows that dared to rebel against the authority of the Iron Throne and ravaged and pillaged to their hearts content on the western coast of westeros."

The king took a moment to catch his breath before speaking once more, "in the royal army, crimes that harm the people are not tolerated! This was made aware to everyone who was enlisted before, after they signed up and during their entire service. Therefore as commander, I hereby punish these men to be whipped...by each and every member of the royal army."

Collective gasps could be heard throughout the gathering of men. What the king had just ordered was essentially a death sentence. A long and excruciating one. Jaime shook his head, I can see the brotherly resemblance. Joffrey and Caspian had never looked much alike and acted so differently one had to wonder if they were truly brothers. They were about as different as night and day.

This punishment of his had certainly changed his mind of that.

The king gave a nod of his head and the company captains stepped forward, a whip in their hands. The alleged cried out for mercy, others for a quick death. Perhaps, but the king had ordered for cloths to be put into their mouths, to stop them from biting their own tongues off and committing suicide.

The first waves of whips sounded out like a crack of thunder and a muffled yell or whimper would soon follow. After they were done, the captains passed the whip onto the next man, a grim look on their face as they carried out the punishment.

The king would sometimes stop the punishment and have the man attended to by maesters. Jaime watched with an impassive face. He was just extending their suffering and even for Jaime's cruelty, he knew that he would never make a man suffer as much as this.

But the king was intent on making a point. His army was to a higher standard than the usual levied armies of the other kingdoms, raping and pillaging was something that he did not want to ever have to deal with again.

By sun down, all the rapists were dead, their backs red and fleshy and their muscles and tendons showing. Whip marks decorated the back, crissing and crossing making some sort of macabre portrait.

The king had left their to be food for the crows, Even crows deserve to be eaten, I suppose. Jaime thought as he made his way back to the camp.

He looked at the king in a new light. It seemed that even he was capable of cruelty, if he felt the need for it. If they were ever found out, him and Cersei, Jaime wondered what sort of punishment, death would the king think for him?

Well, he supposed it was a good thing that he never planned on being found out.

XxX

"Jaime!" Cersei burst into the Lord Commander's room, skirts swirling. Her eyes were frantic and searching as she crossed the room to him, "They say you have lost a leg, is it true?"

"Aye," Jaime replied, bitterly, "It's true." He raised the stump of his leg.

Cersei stopped short of him, her breasts heaving as she drew breath. Had she run here? He supposed he should hope that no-one had seen her, but it was late at night when he and the king's army had managed to return to King's Landing.

She covered a gasp of her mouth with her hand, "The Greyjoy's will pay for this. I'll make sure of it." I'm sure Caspian is already thinking of how. Cersei went to him, taking one of his hands into his own, "You can't serve in the kingsguard like...like..."

"A cripple?" Jaime finished for her, bitterness and resentment in his voice. He knew full well what he was, "I told Caspian the same thing. A kingsguard serves for life. I'm not breaking my oath."

His darling twin sister looked up at him, "A kingsguard is supposed to take no wife or father nor children."

Jaime rolled his eyes, "Well this one at least." He leaned in and kissed Cersei on the lips, "This oath...being in the kingsguard, is the only thing keeping us together." Even if I sully the name and coat with my sheer presence.

"Father will think other wise." She told him.

"He can try. I'll simply tell him to bugger off." But could he though? That was the question.

"Jaime..." Cersei tried to speak, but Jaime cut her off when he roughly pressed his own lips onto hers and forced his tongue into her mouth. Their tongues danced and wrestled for a few good moments before Cersei pulled away, "What are you doing Jaime?" She asked, eyes darting to the open door behind her, the one she had entered through, "What if someone walks in and sees?"

Jaime looked at the door, got up and dragged Cersei with him to the door with difficulty. He was still not used to the crutch and it was difficult dragging someone as well. He closed the door and turned and put his lips on Cersei's once more. He pulled away and began to pecker her neck with affectionate kisses, "There." He said, "No-one can disturb us now." He began to undo the laces of Cersei's gown, whilst the crutch cluttered to the floor as the hand holding it went to find Cersei's sweet post.

Cersei gasped as she felt his fingers enter her folds, "Jaime!" She gasped.

"Quiet now." Jaime growled into her neck as he released Cersei's breasts from the gown and bodice that kept them confined, "Don't want anyone to hear us now, would you?" The Lord Commander's room might have been the largest and given the most privacy, but there was always a risk when it came to their little sessions.

Jaime began to remove his own clothing as Cersei seemed unwilling. His hand went to his sword belt.

The door behind them creaked as it was being opened. Alarm shot through Jaime's mind and he quickly grabbed his sword and as he pulled it out, he was already pivoting. A one legged man pivoting was a sorry sight, but it still did the job as the wide arc of his swing was able to draw blood.

Jaime nearly fell as he tried to regain his balance, before remembering that he only had one leg. Through luck, he was able to balance himself with his sword by using it as a make shit cane of sorts. Cersei was covering herself up as best as she could with one of her arms as she tried to dress herself, "Have you ever heard of knockin-." She began hissing but stopping for a moment as her eyes widened as she stared at the entrance.

Jaime wondered at what she was looking at and looked at the uninvited guest and interloper and he found himself being unable to speak. When he did speak, his voice was nothing more than a barely audible squeak, "Father..."

Lord Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Paramount of the westerlands, leaned against the door he had entered through, hand hopelessly trying to stem the blood that was flowing for the cut into his abdomen.

He was quiet for what seemed to be forever. He raised his bloodied hands, a wet, dull thud was heard as his guts spilled to the floor from the cut. He looked at his hand, and was that shock, Jaime saw in those eyes of his? He could not know.

But the words he uttered next would forever haunt him as Lord Tywin looked at both him and Cersei, shock giving away to fury. If he had any blood, other than the one pouring from his guts, Jaime was sure his face would be red with anger.

"You are no children of mine." The Old Lion declared.

And then, he died.


AN: Been a while, but yeah, who knew being an actual working adult was complete and utter misery? Bills, relationships, partying, working, bloody hell, it's a nightmare. I wish I was five again and taking my parents for granted :(

Well, despite all, that, figured I should actually revisit my old works and update some more. Should be updating more regularly now, perhaps. Not going to make any promises though.

Laters,

TheForeverKing