AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was aware that GRRM disapproves of ASOIAF fanfiction, which made me a little reluctant to post this story, but I reckoned that the visual beauty and general wonderfulness of GoT series 2 was just asking for something to be written. I've not published a fanfiction for a while, but I've finally found myself at the beginning of a Summer where I have very little life getting the way of writing! This story has been lounging in 100 or so pages of word for the past few months, so it was finally time to air it and hammer it into some kind of plot.

This story is rated M, so it may include strong violence, language, sexual content (as you'd expect with ASOIAF…)

You will only need a general knowledge of GoT to read this, and seeing as you're looking at GoT fanfics I assume that's a given! It's set following Jaime's capture by Robb Stark at the Whispering Wood, Catelyn hasn't yet gone to talk with Renly and everyone's still ignoring Stannis.

This will be AU, so you have been warned and for those who do not want to, or have yet to read the books - Fear not!- this is unlikely to contain any proper spoilers - only my own view of how the game will play out.

Disclaimant - Everything you recognise, belongs to GRRM, the rest is mine.

Happy Reading!

Taster

'Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this son of York-'

Richard III

She's never killed anyone before. Why should she have? No-one she knows from home has killed anyone. No one.

What is it, to take a life?

She wishes she'd asked Jaime before, during one of their long talks. She could have prepared herself.

But it's now or never.

She understands what to do. She's seen it in films. As her feet take her forward, she wonders if it will be harder than it looks. Perhaps the skin of a man's throat is tougher than they say, perhaps he struggles more. Is death longer in coming? A tall man like him could overpower her easily. Maybe she will be dead by the end of this. Frightened, she stills her thoughts, forcing a moment of echoing silence, so still she can hear the whisper of the leaves in the forest over her own breath, the man breathing before her in the darkness.

She will not falter. She can do this.

Him, or her.

Now the choice seems simpler; now that she's put a price on her life. He'll die, or she will.

And as it turns out, killing is easier than she had thought.

Once she's behind him in a rush, it's simple to bring her left hand up and drag it to his mouth. Her fingers press back his lips and graze his teeth, but before he can make a startled noise she's brought the razor blade hard across his throat.

Hot, warm blood bursts against her hand.

There's a sound as it spills; a rush. She can smell the iron.

It feels right somehow, to ease his crumple down onto the earth. He's tall, so it's awkward and she has to keep from falling with him. In the process her left hand comes from his mouth and her right is clutched against the flat of his chest with the blade still in her fingers. But he's not screamed, she realises. He's been brave.

As he dies silently, drowning in his own blood, she presses a hand to his brow. Strokes back greasy hair.

'Shh,' she whispers, half startled at her own voice. 'Hush, it's alright. It's alright.'

He's just a boy.

He's just a boy.

Dead now.

She stands, the razor dropping from her hands, fingernails stuck with red, hands shining.

She forces herself to bend and wrest the keys from his belt.

For a moment by the lock she fumbles with them, trembling. But the keys make too much noise to shake for long and she forces her hand into action. Slow and steady.

Gate now open, she crosses the last few meters to Jaime...