As night fell, the cell door creaked open, and Jaime looked up at the Wolf. The sight made him forget the pain of his newly-acquired arrow.
"You?! Come to laugh, have you?"
The Wolf frowned as his gaze went from Jaime's stump to the empty table.
"Where's your arm, Lannister?"
"You'd know better than me!"
"Don't mess about, one-hand. Where the hell is it?"
It was not the Wolf's humorless tone that caused Jaime to bite back a retort but the realization that the question was genuine.
"I don't know. Ask the... whatever the hell it was that took it. Half-man, half-woman, but took Cersei's form at first."
The Wolf gave Jaime a hard look before snarling. Without another word he turned about. The guard outside the door looked in, his expression utterly confused, before closing the door.
Jaime felt inexplicably better, even as that day's arrow impaled in his back of his hand reminded him of its presence with a sharp pain that traveled up his arm. The Wolf's control over his men was clearly not as strong as the barbarian thought. He remembered Tyrion mentioning hideous monsters in his employ at Winterfell, was this another of them?
It was some time before the Wolf returned, carrying Jaime's prosthetic. His armored hand was dripping blood.
"Here you are, one-hand! Don't worry, I had it washed."
"… Washed?"
"Yes, it's been used in a number of ways, and gone into a number of places, from which a true hand would not escape unscathed. Be grateful you weren't there when it happened."
Jaime was about to ask what exactly this entailed, then decided he did not want to know.
"Why did that... thing take it?"
"It seems you rejected Bjarnilda's advances the other night. S/he's not used to being so brutally turned down, or being turned down at all, and reacted as you saw."
"That's it?"
The Wolf shrugged.
"Those who follow the Serpent think very highly of themselves, and do not appreciate it when others hold different opinions. But you have your hand back, and will be able to return to your training on the morrow."
"My training!?"
Jaime stood straight up.
"You call it training, to pit me against that monster who seems to find release in being stabbed? To be pierced through with these damned things every time he beats me!?"
"How do they feel?"
"Th- what?"
"Does each one burn you still, or have they dulled away?"
"Well- that's not the point!"
"But it is."
The Wolf prodded at Jaime's chest with his free hand.
"Soon you too will no longer fear pain, relish it even, and that is an advantage few men are willing to put in the effort to obtain. You, however, have the choice to obtain it or die trying."
"Cersei is dead. Why should I go on living, if only to suffer for your amusement?"
The Wolf chuckled.
"If you wanted to die, you'd have done it by now. It takes courage to end one's life, but also to keep living it. But just think: if you do slit your own throat, Kruissla will have won, for he will have broken not just your flesh but your spirit. Do you particularly want to add your life to his tally? Do you want his smug laughter to accompany you for all eternity?"
Jaime said nothing. The Wolf nodded.
"I thought so."
"Now, if it's your sister's embrace you miss so much, I can arrange for a fair-haired girl to be made up like her. I'll even teach her to scream your name in the throes of passion. Not Bjarnilda, as you've made your distaste clear. "
Jaime looked away. The androgyne had looked and smelled exactly like Cersei, and if not for his panicked reaction, he would undoubtedly have surrendered to her.
"That's not- Then you didn't sent h- it?"
"Hah! You and I are probably the only two things living in this fortress that haven't lain with hir. And you are a far more likely target for hir affections, pretty as you are. No, Bjarnilda takes whoever pleases hir fancy, and was quite miffed that you did not respond in kind. I've seen to it that s/he won't try again for some time."
The Wolf wiped his bloodstained gauntlet on the tablecloth.
"Now, there was something I needed of you..."
Jaime tensed. What new madness was the Wolf going to unleash on him?
"What do you know of a man called... Bran, I think."
Jaime stared. This had to be another of the giant's oafish tricks.
"Seems to have a grudge against your family for some reason."
"No! He forgave me."
"That's not the way your brother tells it."
Jaime blinked.
"What?"
"This man Bran believed you and your brother owed him something. And even attacked the two of you, boasting that even in your prime you'd have had no chance against him. He tried to kill your brother this very morning. I haven't seen you in your prime, but I have seen him fight, and let me tell you it was a sad sight."
"You mean Bronn?!"
"Bronn, Bran, you Southerlings' names all sound the same to me."
"Bronn Blackwater?"
"Yes, I think so. Not much of a shot, not much of a swordsman either."
Jaime could easily imagine the result of such a lopsided duel. He realized he felt a pang of regret at Bronn's death, for the man had had some good qualities, if lacking in loyalty.
"What did you owe him?"
"A knighthood. But with Daenerys' ascension, what we'd promised him was no longer ours to give."
"I see. Greedy little bastard, then."
Jaime nodded emphatically. The Wolf continued.
"And who is this Bran, that you said forgave you for your actions against him? What did you do to him anyway? Steal his woman?"
Jaime's eyes narrowed. The Wolf's casual dismissal of one of Jaime's greatest mistakes pushed him to reveal the truth. Most of the truth.
"I... pushed him from a tower window. He lived, but never walked again."
Now the Wolf fell silent.
"Pushed him from a tower window."
"Yes."
There was an even longer silence.
"And... this is the man you say forgave you?"
"Yes."
The Wolf shook his head.
"Some commoner then, forgiving you in fear for his life, for had you perpetrated such indignity on a fellow highborn you would likely not be here but swinging from a gibbet."
"He was a-"
Jaime stopped himself. The barbarian had often demonstrated a child-like unawareness of the most important events in Westeros' history, giving him more details was unnecessary. Let him figure it out on his own.
"He was a scion of one of the highest Houses in the Seven Kingdoms."
The Wolf snorted.
"Not so high, or his kin would have placed greater emphasis on catching the culprit. That, or his family has little love to spare for its children and siblings. Among the Norsca, such a deed would have seen war break out until the extermination of one tribe, possibly several once allies, vassals and mercenaries were pulled in."
Jaime took some time to process the sheer scale of the Wolf's ignorance of recent wars or the Stark family's bonds.
"They... don't know it was me. He never told them."
The Wolf started.
"What."
Jaime nodded. The Wolf shook his head, and seemed to search for the right words to express himself.
"Is it a requirement that you must be a fool or a coward to live around here? A failure of a sellsword tries to kill your brother, he lets the man go. A smuggler's thanks for relieving a besieged city is to have his hand mutilated, he follows the man responsible like a beaten dog. A bodyguard betrays his king, he keeps his post when the throne is next filled."
Jaime started, but the Wolf did not appear to have noticed.
"The Lannister soldiery rise up against the Dragonqueen, she forgives them. You toss a man out a window, he forgives you, and even keeps your crime a secret. What is wrong with this place?!"
"He wasn't a man then, it was years ago!"
The Wolf stopped mid-rant, his hands swinging at his sides. His shoulders drooped, causing the skulls chained to his pauldrons to clack against each other. Slowly he closed his mouth, and breathed in deep enough for two men.
Finally he exhaled, and placed the golden hand on the table. He did not look at Jaime, but seemed to be addressing the wall behind.
"You will shortly have the means to end the Iron-skin's victorious streak, gold-hand. Up to you to use those means to secure your triumph."
Jaime made no move to pick up his prosthetic.
"And then?"
The Wolf shrugged.
"And then? Who knows."
Now the barbarian turned to look at him.
"Perhaps you will join me under the Dragonqueen's banner in suitable disguise, as we spread her rule throughout the lands with fire and steel. Perhaps you will cut off your other arm to deny me your services, or perhaps you will succumb to Bjarnilda's ruggedly delicate charms and catch every type of pox known to sailors and goat herders. The gods have their plans for each of us, gold-hand, and to insist on following our own is to court disaster."
Once again, the Wolf left without waiting for an answer. Resignedly, Jaime strapped on his hand. At least now he would last a little longer against the Kurgan, though this would only soften the sting to his pride.