JAIME
Bald, bearded, one-handed Jaime Lannister was becoming a new man. He hadn't just kept all his power in the sword hand which had been lopped off by one of Vargo Hoat's fat sellswords; he'd kept all his evil in there, too.
As soon as the hand was gone, Jaime began to transform. Brienne of Tarth had noticed first—Jamie had gone from calling her things like "Wench," "Biscuit-butt," "Pug-fuglet," "Gregor Clegane Lookin' Ass," and "Ootgroot" to somewhat more respectful nicknames, such as "Blondie," "Regular-butt," and "Powder Keg."
"Hey Powder Keg!" Jaime shouted from aback his horse. Brienne, several yards further down the trail, turned wearily to him.
"It's Brienne," she said.
"That's what I said! Hey," he told her, drawing his horse up alongside hers, "I just wanted to apologize."
"Why."
The horses' hooves clopped noisily as Jaime took a moment to compose his thoughts.
"For all that annoying shit I did," he summarized. "Throwing that dumb little boy out the window, trying to kill you in a sword fight… you know, et cetera."
"Et cetera," Brienne said doubtfully.
"I mean, I've really turned a new leaf. This is it for me. Now that my masturbation hand is gone, I have to face up to the fact that I'm no longer the warrior I once was. Masturbating left-handed is weird, I'm telling you. It's like getting a handjob from an idiot."
Brienne pursed her lips and refused to speak.
"But all those left-handed handjobs really softened me up. I think I'm ready to try being a good guy again."
"Sure."
"No, really!" Jaime insisted.
"Oh yeah? What's your first good guy move gonna be?" Brienne asked flatly.
"I already went back to Harrenhal and saved you from the bear. That wasn't pretty good?"
Brienne snorted. "That bear was on the ropes. If you hadn't shown up to steal my kill, I would've blown those outlaw shitheads' minds. Bear guts all over the place, blood dripping off my tits, screaming at the moon—"
"You lie, Powder Keg!"
"—Chomping bear intestines like sausage links, swinging the spine around above my head like a flail, climbing inside the bear's corpse to gain its power and—"
Christ, Jaime thought helplessly.
"—Then I'd cut off your other hand, just for calling me a wench."
Jaime realized the only person he had yet told about becoming a good guy was Brienne herself. The wheels of his mind turned quickly and then locked into place. Since no one else knew about it, his good guy transformation could easily be postponed for another day.
"Ha!" Jaime yelled suddenly, leaping off his horse and onto the back of Brienne's. She screamed and shot her heels up into the horse's ribs, sending it on a wild forward push down the road. Then, almost automatically, Brienne sprung up and out of the stirrups and stood atop the saddle like a surfer with her arms out for balance. She was facing backwards, looking bewildered, at Jaime, who was seated on the horse's butt, behind the saddle, looking just as bewildered. Brienne planted her foot on Jaime's chest and let out a triumphant Yah as she pushed him off the back of the horse. He screamed as he hit the road and bounced onto the shoulder. Brienne surfed her horse around in a circle, drew her sword, and trotted up to where Jaime lay bleeding in the grass.
"Stupid wench," he growled, clutching his stump. His eyes were wild with pain and fury.
"It's Powder Keg," Brienne said quietly. Then three feet of steel lashed out toward Jaime. He had just enough time to think NOT AGAIN! before the shocking cold bite of the sword landed in his left wrist and sent his only remaining hand spinning off into the brush.
"OH MY GOD!" Jaime screeched breathlessly, lifting up both his stumps to the sky, as if for inspection. "OH MY GOD, IT HAPPENED TWICE! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOOOOD!"
"You crybaby," Brienne said. She kicked the dead hand back into the road. Jaime writhed toward it, sobbing, extending his stumps like huge fumbling chopsticks. Brienne plucked the hand up by the pinkie and threw it. Jaime watched his hand sail over the road and into the weeds on the other side.
I will strangle this bitch with my feet, Jaime's mind roared. He was feverish with outrage, pain, and fear. I will dig my toes into her carotid artery and tear it open with my toenails. I will kick her nose back into her brain with my heel.
"We'll have to ride a faster now," Brienne fretted as she remounted her horse. Jaime, still lying in the road in a puddle of blood, looked up at her in disbelief. "We lost like six or seven minutes messing around back there."
"I lost another hhh-hhHHHHAAAAAAAND back there!"
"Oh, shut up. How were you expecting to be a good guy with one of those evil hands still attached? I did you a favor."
"It wasn't the hands that was evil!" Jaime roared.
"Don't kid yourself. How many people have you ever killed with your feet, Kingslayer? Like one percent of your total kills? Or even less, I bet."
Jaime screamed, gaping in horror at his twin stumps. He thought he might pass out.
That night, after he was finally able to get to sleep by drinking about three skins of wine and rolling his penis back and forth between his wrists to masturbate, he dreamed of the two golden hands with which he would clobber Brienne of Tarth into a shape even more hideous than God's original design.