There is some recommended listening for this entire Fic. Not a whole playlist, but just one song, which has provided me with so much inspiration that I believe everyone should listen to it while reading. (Youtube/ ) watch?v=4pXfHLUlZf4

Thank you.

Heyy GUYSE! Thankxx soo much for reading my totes awesome fanfic. U are the best and help me get where I am. Be who you are and not who other people want you to be and all that, rights babe XX! :P

Ha! Ha! No.

Hodor will mold you into any any shape, form, or mindset he desires. You will be who he wants you to, or else. He is room 101, he is your greatest nightmare, come to swarm upon you from above, below, behind, or whatever direction you fear most.

Jaime had thought recent events over long and hard after doing that glorious jump out of the window, and managed to come to several conclusions.

Firstly, there was no way to explain to Tywin what had happened. The man was delirious for love of his wife, and was likely to believe Hodor over Jaime in any argument. Hodor, despite being able to only say one word, held a lot of weight in an argument, and might try to attack Jaime forcefully if anything went wrong.

Secondly, Tyrion and his dearest beloved Cersei already believed that Hodor was their long lost brother, despite the lack of resemblances and utter unlikelihood. They had accepted him into the family, and would think Jaime overly paranoid over any complaint he placed against Hodor.

Thirdly, and above all,

Hodor had tried to rape him, and came very close to succeeding in that attempt.

The third one, he figured, was a drastically enormous factor in his decision to run away from Casterly Rock.

He wasn't running away permanently, oh no. Casterly Rock was a massive part of the Lannister fortunes, and he would inherit it come Tywin's death. Perhaps later on, when Hodor's urges had calmed down a little, he would return. After all, it was a place to meet Cersei, away from Robert's interrogating eyes. It was just that he didn't feel like having his armour forcibly pried off in some remote room of the castle any time soon.

So he made the choice to return to King's Landing, as soon as he emerged from the water, dripping with the salty water. At least it was only water covering him, and none of Hodor's seme-

Oh look! Let's think about something else, no more disgusting thoughts for you, Jaime, no! He thought to himself. He tried to blot the image of the clear, thick liquid running down the side of Hodor's-

A bird! See that! In the tree over there. It had children in the nest, newly hatched eggs most likely. Jaime loved the taste of boiled eggs.
He shook the water off his armour as he stepped onto the rocky edge of the coast, hoping it wouldn't create any rust. The last thing he wanted in life was rust on his armour. If he was going to be anally assaulted by a five man strong giant, he wanted to look his best.
From where he stood now, you could see Casterly Rock, and look at it Jaime did. Very wistfully, as well. It was a citadel of hundreds of rooms and buildings piled on top of each other on the offshore rock. The sun gleamed Lannister gold against the bricks, same colour as Jaime's voluptuous hair. If this was a music video, the camera would keep cutting between Jaime singing the man's verse, and Cersei the melancholy chorus. Both of them would be scantily dressed, and Jaime would be depicted walking along the beach in a faraway desperation, Cersei looking on the verge of tears in the rooms of Casterly Rock, both of them missing each other's warm company so much it just required them to burst into song.

But it wasn't a music video. Hell, there weren't even any cameras in Lannisport, the Maesters had seemed astounded when Jaime had described to them the way of capturing the light in the form of a picture. Thought him to be mad, but it was a very simple concept, dammit! Everyone was too wrapped up in their own life to understand.

Instead of looking for Cersei, picturing her smile that she brought out very occasionally when she wasn't bitching about something or other, he could only stare at the window he'd sprung from, and the shattered glass around it. An impressive dive, one Tom Daley would be pretty fucking pleased to make. It wasn't like that, though, and very unfortunately, Cersei hadn't been there to see him jump off a narrow plank wearing a golden speedo.

Jaime sighed, and was about to turn away from his beloved home, when he caught sight of something in the high window he'd jumped from.

More precisely, someone, who was still glaring out of it.

The figure took up the entire space, gigantic head examining him like he was a piece of meat. His massive bulk loomed beneath his tiny neck, and Jaime realised that Hodor had been watching him this whole time.

It might have been his overly active imagination, combined with his splendid eyesight, but Jaime thought he saw the figure's lips move.

Thought he saw a tongue come out and lick them in anticipation, and them slowly move to form a word.

"Hodor." there was nothing else it could be.

Run, he thought, just fucking run.

Jaime did just that, and nearly soiled his once perfectly gleaming armour with fear on the way.

He'd run for hours, now. Felt like years, months, days, even.

In reality, of course, it had been closer to twenty five minutes.

But still! The water hadn't all run off him when he got out of the sea. What was left of it collected in a pocket in a particularly unpleasant place, and jogged against him every time he ran. After a while, he thought to take the armour off, let all the water out. Being completely devoid of clothes underneath that, however, he soldiered on with the pool of itching liquid rubbing against his crotch like those things some referred to as undergarments.

No, Jaime had never liked undergarments to start off with. Rough, uncomfortable things, that made times with Cersei a lot more difficult.
Finally, after so much running, he came across a building on the grassy horizon. Was mostly grass and mountains, with a few lions to brighten up the scenery. There weren't naturally lions around here, but Tywin had insisted that a population of them were placed into the county years ago, and they'd bred like anxious rabbits. Now they were all but tame vermin, and you wouldn't have to look far to see a couple of the creatures pawing around inside cities, looking for scraps of food to eat.

The building he came to now was along a relatively busy road, so several wagons were parked outside. Probably the closest inn to Casterly Rock, so many servants might stop here on their way to and from the castle. Jaime would go in and ask the tavern keeper for some money. Enough to buy a horse and provisions enough for the ride to King's Landing. Perhaps he would hire and handful of sell-swords to protect him. Even though he was the Kingslayer, he still needed some homies, even questionably loyal ones.

As Jaime came a little closer he realised that besides the odd occasional lions that shuffled around in the garbage bags outside, there were an awful lot of wagons and carts parked outside. So many that they were blocking the entrance to this moderately sized inn. Must be popular, or famous for its ale. Be nice to have a good drink after this ordeal he had been put through. The area around Lannisport really was a charming place, and he was glad that Tywin must have paid for this pub to be built at some point.

Surprisingly, after a while he noticed that the windows were all boarded up or closed. The place must be out of repair, then. But why would so many flock to it if it was being fixed up? Then he saw that the only windows that were boarded up were the ones without shutters. They must just want to keep whatever went on inside a secret. Perhaps a house for the Milk Of The Poppy.
But as he came closer, he saw the name of the inn, and it wasn't an inn anymore.

The building was labelled, with a big, golden sign, that made the purpose of the building pretty goddamn obvious.

'A Place for a Really Nice Fuck' it read.

A brothel, then.

That made him consider not going inside, made him hesitate when he stood outside the battered door. 'Ooooh's and 'aaah's and cries of 'get the hell off of me, you creep!' came from the upstairs rooms. He could even hear them from outside.

Jaime wasn't an objector to brothels, in fact, he could very much enjoy a Really Nice Fuck if he was offered one. But this was awfully close to Casterly Rock, even if it was a few hours away, and going inside could ruin his reputation in the area. Some of the servants from the citadel might be in here, and they could spread the rumor across all of Lannisport.

This could potentially be very bad for him, being a kingsguard and all, but Jaime only shrugged.

"#YOLO," he said to himself, before pushing open the creaking door. He suspected that wasn't the only piece of furniture that creaked around here.

Inside was a large dining room, if 'dining' was the right word. The courses were more, ass, ass and more ass, but some food was offered. Rickety tables were scattered about with many patrons sitting happily at them. Overall the room was crowded with people, all fairly merrily going about their business.

Oh, right! Jaime had almost forgotten the tits! Yes, there were lots of those. Here there and everywhere, flopping about on every woman inside. He'd almost forgotten that this was made by a cable network, so showing all that was okay.

Dust drifted down to his head from the ceiling as the floorboards above shook and tremored to a resounding rhythm. Jaime was almost disappointed with the speed of that rhythm. He and Cersei could have certainly set a higher and more energetic tempo.

Very shockingly, it was almost as if the entire clientele were male. He thought he might see a couple dicks out on show for the ladies, but there were only one or two. Couldn't say he wasn't glad about that. Last thing Jaime wanted to be was a Tyrell.

Then he remembered the target audience for the books and television show was mostly virgin males, so there would be some controversy if there was any porn involved to support the women.

Jaime wondered who would give him a Really Nice Fuck, and checked out many pieces of available ass. Cersei was only a couple miles away in reality, but to Jaime it was a lifetime's worth of travelling, and after so many hours of not getting laid, he was pretty desperate.

"Oooooohaaaaaaaar," said one of the hoes, one finger pointing toward him, other hand covering her mouth in awe. "he's Jaime Lannister, he is!"

A whole group of them were cooing over him now. Oh well, if it was that obvious who he was, there was no point in trying to hide it.

"A right fitty!" another one echoed. Jaime gave them a nervous wave, and they made a fawning noise.

The thought that he could get romantically involved with another woman had never really occurred to Jaime. Was he physically attractive?

What kind of question was that? Of-freaking-course he was! He could have any woman in the entire kingdom...

And he chose his sister. Ah well, at least that meant she was readily available.

He tried to look for the owner. He looked through the labyrinth of boobs that were filling his peripheral, and direct vision. They were oddly distracting, somehow, in a way he couldn't explain.

Strangely, the owner of the place found him, and Jaime instantly wished that he hadn't. Jaime wished that he'd never entered this brothel. The man's smug grin was almost as slimy as Jaime had felt when he was dancing with Hodor. Several bitches parted to make way for him, looking at Jaime all the while, as the master manager of the brothel swaggered out to the centre of the room.

"Salutations, Ser Lannister," Littlefinger said, tweaking his striking mustache. "What can I do for you today?" he looked at several giggling whores beside him, wearing clothes that had somehow, by some marvel of physics, failed to stay buttoned up.

"I, er..." Jaime looked nervously about himself. Most people in the place were looking at him, at least the ones who didn't have their tongues or any other body part locked into someone else's mouth.

"Have you, by any chance, come here for a Really Nice Fuck?" Petyr Baelish asked.

"Erm-"

"Excellent! Excellent!" he strutted forward and put an arm around Jaime's shoulder, and dragged him forward and around the tables of the large room, showing him everything that was on display. "There are so many specials I can offer you. Lelia here," he pointed toward a woman who was running circles around a table, donning all but nothing. Why was she doing that? What kind of depraved bastard would be into it? She stopped, and looked longingly at Jaime the second Littlefinger mentioned her name. "Lelia offers the 'Littlefinger's Fingering Fun' Special edition experience!"

"I put the 'finger' in Littlefinger," Lelia said, attempting to sound seductive. Somehow, 'Littlefinger's Fingering Fun' made Jaime's gag reflex go wild. Littlefinger seemed to pick up on that, as a master if reading the tastes of his clients. He dragged Jaime away to another girl, one with blonde, lengthy hair. She could pass for Cersei, if it came to that. If he squinted his eyes tight and didn't look to closely, perhaps.

She smiled and opened her mouth to speak. Instantly whatever illusion there could have been was ruined,

"'ello, guv'na!" she chirruped, "searching for a fuck are ye?"

Jaime nearly vomited, right then, but then on second thought, it wasn't as bad as it seemed.

If Cersei did a voice like that, it would be totally hot. She could pretend to be a helpless, peasant farming maiden, while he-

"Not your type, eh? Something else can be arranged," Littlefinger's eyes started to glimmer, and he commanded the room with a snap of his fingers.

"Wait! I just wanted some money, be on my way to King's Landing! No need to-"

But all the hoes were circling around him now, drawing in closer and closer, trying to convince him that each one of them was ripe for the fucking. In the background, a couple of the patrons, who had now been left alone, we're steadily wanking. Yanking at their manhoods like there was nothing more natural in the world than twenty-odd half-naked women swarming a particularly handsome knight. This was the stuff of true fetishes, it was.

"Lord! Oh my Lord!"

"It would be my honour to serve you, in any way possible!"

"Tee hee!"

They were all chattering now, jostling for position in front of Jaime and Littlefinger. Jaime politely tried to find a path out of the group, but he was being blocked on all sides.

"Ser Lannister," Littlefinger suddenly addressed him, and the entire room went silent. "It seems that you are required to partake in some sort of illicit activity with-"

"Lord Baelish!" a deep male voice shouted from the area around the door, quickly followed by the stomping of boots, and the gasping of every mouth. Jaime couldn't recognise who it was, nor see through the crowd of women who were deposited around him. When the stomping came nearer, however, they parted, some jittering about in fright.

In all honesty, in the presence of a man such as this, it seemed the wisest thing to do.

The stranger looked around the 'Place for a Really Nice Fuck' with his one eye, uncovered socket rancid and gaping. Everyone seemed to cower under his gaze, apart from Littlefinger, that was.

Littlefinger just grinned, and Jaime felt a whole lot worse for it.

"Yes, my dearest Timett?" Baelish cooed back. Must have already known this mountain-worn man from somewhere. "What can I do for you?"

Timett examined Jaime thoroughly, standing before him. Looked him up and down with a greedy sneer behind his wicked features. Like he was a piece of meat to be bought for market, and nothing else. What was worse was the silence that set over the entire room, seeping into everyone's minds and making Jaime wish, not for the last time, that he'd just kept on running.

Then Timett turned back to Littlefinger, apparently having had his fill of glaring at Jaime. It felt a great weight taken off his shoulders, for a second.

But then he spoke.

Oh how Jaime would always wish he'd never spoke.

"How much," Timett growled at Petyr Baelish, "for a rumble with the Kingslayer?"

It was almost comedic. Littlefinger certainly laughed, and Jaime joined in as well. An awkward, disjointed laugh at a failed joke, was all it was.

"Ha Ha Ha!" Littlefinger chuckled, then all too quickly turned deadly serious, "Fifty silver."

Jaime shook himself out of the bitter jovial state, only barely processing what was going on.

"What?" he asked stupidly, unaware as to why Timett was already counting some stags out of his coin purse. Must have ordered a fuck.

He caught sight of the sheer quantity of coin that was being transferred. A really expensive fuck, by the look of it. Didn't think that Littlefinger's place was able to produce a fuck of that quality.

Timett's eye gleamed, and turned to face Jaime. Littlefinger happily nodded toward them.

"Go on, then," the lord nodded to the stairs leading to the second floor. Then he leaned into a stage whisper to Jaime "I'll let you keep half of it if you work well."

"What?!" Jaime asked incredulously, still completely unaware of what was going on.

"Come along, Lannister," Timett chuckled happily, giving Jaime a shove in the back, urging him toward the stairs. In a confused daze, Jaime ascended. Had Timett just paid for Jaime to have a complimentary fuck with one of the women. They both clomped up the steps, Timett shaking his head disbelievingly. If so, it had been awfully nice of him.

He thought about refusing, and going back downstairs, but he was already outside the bedroom doors now, and Timett had just paid all that money. Wouldn't be a polite thing to do, turn down the man's gift, even if he was a stranger with one bloodshot eye.

Timett pushed him through the door and into the decadently decorated room. It contained a bed, a large table, a counter, a rug, a mattress, and just about every other surface one could desire to be banged while lying upon. Surprisingly, Timett closed the door behind him. Somehow Jaime was reminded of his situation earlier today, the one with Hodor in the store room, but this was under a much lighter context.

"A fuck with the Kingslayer, eh?" Timett muttered to the room as he stepped inside, "I'm one lucky man."

"Yes, I must thank you for-"

Wait.

What?

Then it hit Jaime. There weren't any women up here. Just him and Timett. That meant that Littlefinger had just sold him! To this grizzled... hillman!

And for fifty silver stags, too. A little disappointing. Jaime would have expected to fetch at least a hundred, at the bare minimum. Cersei would have paid quadruple that, at least, for this kind of opportunity.

For now, though, he had more pressing things to worry about.

"Timett, please, listen to me," Jaime tried to reason, "I haven't consented to this, and-"

"I know!" Timett exclaimed, walking forward towards him, "that's what makes it all the more fun!"

Twice it would be in one day, then. It went without saying, that Jaime wasn't having a good day.

"The Kingslayer, wow." Jaime tried to calm him "He is a wonderful person, I understand why you would want to sleep with him. But, I beg of you-"

"Good. Beg, grovel, I like a man on his knees."

"You aren't thinking logically! My family is rich, they can pay you to back away. A Lannister always pays his debts."

"Does he now? Well, by agreeing to go upstairs, you are in debt to me. You owe me one night with Jaime Lannister, and I damn well intend to claim it."

Jaime decided that now might be an appropriate time to look for a way out. Timett must have caught him glancing frantically about himself, for he increased his speed.

"Nowhere to run, Lannister. Nowhere to hide."

And he was right. The window was boarded up, the door now locked. Jaime wished he'd brought his sword. But he had his golden armour with him, and that was some last resort protection, if needed.

Timett leaped at him and Jaime only managed to dodge with a yelp.

It would most certainly be needed.

Timett was certainly eager. Unexpectedly eager. Only slightly less eager than Hodor would have been.

"Oh he's a slippery one, he is!" Timett said, to no one in particular, as Jaime managed to wriggle out of his grasp for what felt like the hundredth time.

This time, there was no exaggeration. It was approximately, the hundredth time.

"GTFO!" Jaime shouted back at him.

That caused Timett to pause for a second, letting his grasping hands go limp.

"You wot?" Timett said. Jaime shrugged, and Timett continued his chase. Jaime leaped onto the sofa for what seemed the twentieth time, and then swerved around the oncoming Timett. It was really just a question of who would tire faster, who had the longest endurance; and Jaime had just run a near few leagues before coming into this stalemate.

Timett had the upper hand, as well. He didn't have to run around in heavy plate armour. He didn't have to run at all, he just had to make lumbering grasping swings towards Jaime in an attempt to catch him. Jaime thought he could try going on the offence, but how could he possibly do that? There was nothing around here that he could use as a weapon, no loose objects, no floorboards he could prize off. Perhaps he could try hitting Timett with a pillow, but Jaime had a sneaking suspicion that he might enjoy that. Plus, he was the uke, and couldn't possibly defend himself.

No, Jaime just had to keep running. And pray.

Jaime had never been a particularly religious man, so none of the Gods answered him, but something else, did.

Outside the door, he heard an infernal giggling of several voices. A couple women of questionable virtue, off to doubtless give someone a better time than he was having now. They walked along the corridor, dainty footfalls hardly making a sound.

But Littlefinger was walking with them, talking to someone else. He sounded nervous, as he damn well should have, selling off a knight of the Kingsguard to a filthy hillman.

"I think you ought to leave. You haven't the coin to pay for any of our services, yet alone Littlefinger's Fingering Fun." but Jaime could tell he didn't really mean it, like he was trying to get the other man to leave. Timett took another shot at him, and he had to roll over on the floor to avoid his grip.

"Do not worry, my Lord Petyr Baelish," a familiar deep voice said, and Jaime's pouting frown instantly reversed when he heard it, "A Lannister always pays his debts."

All the will returned to him then, not to give up. He gave Timett a weak shove, all that he was able to manage, and ran for the door of the room, and started to ferociously pound on it.

"Tyrion!" he shouted, filling his voice with as much volume as he could "I'm in here! Littlefinger sold me to a hillman for fifty stags!"

Tyrion's tone quickly became serious, a rare occasion. Stunned, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just heard, he spoke.

"Only fifty silvers?" there was much shock in his voice, "I would think you'd go for at least two hundred and fifty, being a knight and everything."

He heard Littlefinger growl in frustration next to Tyrion.

"Get me out of here! Timett is about to-"

"Silence, slave!" Timett bellowed, "I've paid my fifty silvers, and I will have a fuck with the Kingslayer!" he demanded, reaching for Jaime, and this time managing to grab him successfully.

"Are you all right in there, Jaime?" Tyrion asked.

"Fuck no!" Jaime hollered, being pressed down towards the floor, Timett on top of him.

There was a desperate rattling at the doorhandle, probably Tyrion's brave efforts.

"It's locked!" the dwarf proclaimed.

"Break it down!" Jaime suggested, voice quavering. Tyrion wouldn't be able to do anything, he was just a dwarf. Timett was now trying to fiddle with the buckles on his armour, and Jaime struggled as much as he could.

"No!" Littlefinger protested, "you can't help him, Imp, it's too late,"

"Run for help, Tyrion!" Jaime screamed, voice taking a higher pitch with each speech. Timett pressed his face closer to Jaime's, brought out a decaying, fleshy tongue, and licked the Kingslayer's cheek.

"I like it when they squeal!" Timett murmured, only loud enough for Jaime to hear.

Really, he should have tried to help it. Should have stopped himself, for it only gave Timett pleasure all the more. Timett wanted him to scream like a little pussy girl, and scream like a little pussy girl Jaime did.

"Cersei's downstairs! I'll get her to help!" Tyrion said, before his little footsteps pattered away down the hall.

Now Cersei would see him like this. What would she think? In his time of weakness, in his time of utter, raw desperation, resulting to shrieking and crying for help.

If she ever asked, he would say that he did it for her, yes, that was a good thought. Say that he kept himself pure and non-violent in this situation in order to defend the Lannister honour.

The Lannister honour, however, was about to be violated, as Timett had managed to get one of his shoulder straps off.

Tyrion still didn't return. Cersei wouldn't be able to do much, anyway. She would only stand at the door, listening to the shrieks of her brave lover, being forced to the ground by a rowdy hillman.

This was it. The second buckle came off, and the breastplate with it. Timett peeled it slowly off his skin, and it hurt like a burn. Jaime couldn't remember the last time he'd taken his armour off, and he never wanted to do it again. By now it was all but fused to his skin, and this mishap was ruining that legacy.

"Ow!" Jaime yelped. It was like peeling away the stickiest band aid in the world. Except, there were no band aids in the seven kingdoms, so his armour was probably the second stickiest thing.

But the breastplate was just the start, next Timett reached for his leg armour, and started to fiddle with the catch. He all but had it off, and Jaime was near completely naked, when by the largest stroke of luck, a blundering sound of heavy stomps came from the end of the corridor. It was accompanied by a light pattering of feet, and the clacking of cheap heels.

"Jaime!" Cersei's concerned, dear voice called out to him. Such worry in her words, such love.

"If I don't make it, Cersei..." Jaime started.

"Don't say that, Jaime! You will live another day, you will," she broke into a burst of tears outside the door. Jaime loved it when bitches cried over him, but he couldn't relish the emotion right now, the water was already streaming out of his own eyes.

The lumbering stomp finally reached the door, and Jaime realised what it was. For a second, he'd hoped it was some bodyguard, perhaps the Mountain. Anyone other than who it was. Then, even more so, he realised that he was all but completely naked, and that the owner of those footsteps would very much appreciate that.

"Go away," Jaime demanded, sobbing, "I'll be fine. I've managed to get Timett off me," he wailed. Anything. Anything other than let that man inside right now.

"No he hasn't!" Timett confirmed, "quit trying to be brave, laddie, and lie still, I can hardly get the trousers off of yer,"

Cersei cried all he harder.

The heavy footfall came all the way up to the door, and Jaime wished that the Lannisters had never attempted to rescue him, that he'd just been given half the share of Timett's payment, and had been on his way to King's Landing by now. But nothing could ever be so simple. Not with the most complicated man in the world standing behind the door.

The giant burst it open in an explosion of wood, splinters of the door flickering around the room like snow. Light shone down onto Jaime and Timett, and the figure looked down at them, stupid, happy smile still on his face.

"Hodor," said Hodor.

Hodor pulled Timett off of Jaime and flung him to the corner of the room, running after him. He grabbed Timett's skull and pounded it against the thick wall, once, twice, three times. The hillman quickly fell into unconsciousness, and slumped against the ground in a ragdoll heap.

Now he could see Cersei, staring at him from that hollow doorway, looking so disappointed. Tyrion was next to her, arms folded sternly. The queen dried her tears, and was about to offer Jaime a hand to help him stand up, when he felt something scooping him up from below. Quickly, as his first instinct, he hugged the dislodged piece of breastplate armour close to his chest, the thing he loved most, and what would be with him until the end.

He felt himself being lifted off the ground by two meaty, calloused, hairy arms, and carried like a baby out of the room. He looked up at the face of the tall stable hand that was carrying him, and Hodor looked back.

"Hodor." Hodor whispered, loud enough so only Jaime could hear.

Thank the fucking Gods he couldn't understand.

Hodor carried him from the room, from the brothel, and away from an astounded Littlefinger. The three Lannisters – or perhaps four, stood outside, in various states of mental decay.

"Why were you in there, Tyrion?" Jaime asked in a frightful voice.

"You know..." the dwarf said, "It did say Really Nice Fuck on the outside,"

Well he understood that. Tyrion spent most of his time in places like that. What he didn't know the answer to, however, was his next question.

"And Cersei, why were you there?" Jaime asked, still in Hodor's loving arms.

"Well, you see. Tyrion suggested a family outing, and I couldn't exactly refuse. After all, it's been months since you and I-"

Jaime laughed, laughed in depression, laughed in defeat. The woman he loved, or at least was somewhat attracted to, went to a brothel in place of him. A grim thought that didn't bode well for the Lannister futures.

"Cersei, we can have a Really Nice Fuck any time you want. I'm the Kingslayer! These things aren't taxing on me," Cersei's face seemed to light up a little at that, as it bloody well should have. "In fact, it might be a little better than just Really Nice, because-"

"Hodor." Hodor shut him off, angrily. Didn't seem to like the idea of Jaime sleeping with Cersei, somehow. Figured.

So the Lannisters returned to Casterly Rock, Jaime not having the effort to protest much any more.

"Jaime!" Tywin cried, coming to greet his wet, shivering, half naked son in Hodor's arms as if it was nothing more than a casual hello. Joanna was at his side, as she always was, and Jaime had come to hate her smile.

Jaime, Hodor and their parents were at the gates of Casterly Rock, and Jaime wished above all that Cersei and Tyrion hadn't left.

"What happened to you, Jaime? We were worried sick. Broken window, accidental fall," accidental? "Running leagues away to some run down brothel," Tywin cooed. Hodor started to stroke Jaime's hair, running his grubby fingers through his precious locks. It was absolutely the least comforting thing Jaime had ever felt.

"Hodor," Jaime stammered, "Hodor saved me from a difficult situation. I was being... assaulted by a feral hillman, and Hodor came to my rescue,"

"So I have heard from Tyrion." Tywin moved forward, and joined in with Hodor's stroking of his hair, although what he was doing was less like Hodor's heavy petting. "You really owe your brother a great favour, he has saved your honour."

"Hodor." Hodor agreed.

Jaime was a more than a little distressed at this moment, so he might not have been thinking so clearly, but there was one thing he was sure about. One thing he could never let go of. One fact that everyone refused to see.

What Hodor had done to his life was far closer to ruining it than doing any saving. He looked up at his giant brother, and the giant grinned all the wider.

Jaime dreaded exactly what sort of 'great favour' he now owed Hodor.