Jaime

Winter had never truly affected him growing up, other than serving as a mild inconvenience. He had been born in the fall but didn't remember it; it was why whenever he thought of Casterly Rock he saw it with snow on the ramparts. He had been warned that winter was devastating but he had never seen it. Yes, it had made training difficult but the old master-at-arms of the Rock had declared that snow was the best thing to train in as it taught you to always watch one's feet.

"Boys who learn on hard stone are the first ones to die in the muck!" he'd declared once when some other lads had complained about slipping. "You think battlefields are nice smooth surfaces where one can see their reflections if they look down? Fuck no… there is blood and piss and shit all over and I've killed more than one man who stepped in horse droppings and that threw him off!"

Jaime had never complained about fighting in the snow as it honestly made it all the more entertaining. Even in his earliest days of handling a wooden sword he'd known that he was skilled with the weapon and anything that added a bit of danger to his training made sure he actually kept his mind on his movements rather than wandering to other things.

Those lessons had served him well when he'd battled the Kingswood Brotherhood, earning his title of Knight. He'd tricked several of the criminals onto ice covered in snow, allowing them to skid about before he'd stabbed them clean, staining the powder red with their blood.

Sometimes he would lie awake and wonder what would have happened if the Rebellion had happened just a bit earlier or later. Later and it would have been summer and the Northerners wouldn't have fought well in the heat, leaving Robert on his own. Earlier and it would have been winter and it was very likely that Ned Stark would have reached the capital before all of them and taken the throne.

'It doesn't matter though. What was done was done.' Jaime pulled his hooded cloak tighter around him. He had been thinking about such things to keep his mind off the biting cold because even though it wasn't truly winter yet in Westeros he was in the Lands of Always Winter and that title wasn't merely a cute little phrase the Northerners had come up with to justify their foolish decision to keep the Wall up and not claim the lands that lay beyond it.

Jaime brought his hands up to his mouth and blew on them only for Osha to shake her head. "What?" he asked as they continued to trek on. "Some superstition?"

"Common sense," the wildling woman informed him. "All of you gets cold so you don't focus on the fingers or the toes. Focus on the chest."

"The chest?" Jaime asked.

"Heart beats there," she said, tapping just below her breasts, though it was hard to tell with how bundled up she was. Honestly with how heavy the furs all of them were wearing, supplied to them by Rh… by Mantis it was a wonder any of them could tell who was who. "Blood is the hottest part of the body. You need to keep the heart warm. It will send the blood to everything else. You warm your fingers and your toes without warming your chest and you force the cold blood into your heart. Like throwing water on a fire. And without fire…" She trailed off.

"Right," Jaime said. "And when I have no fingers left?"

Osha shrugged. "Then you fight with your knuckles."

"I'll take fingers and a sword," Jaime said.

She chuckled at that. "You don't get a choice this far North." Jaime merely nodded at that and continued on, though he could feel Osha's hot stare on his form. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Jaime said stiffly, pushing on through the heavy snow. They'd been forced to abandon Bran's cart when they'd reached the Wall and now the boy was being carried by Hodor while the rest of them struggled through the drifts that had formed. "Must we go this way?"

"Mantis said that it is the way to go," Osha stated. "And there is something wrong with you."

"There is nothing wrong."

"No… something is bothering you greatly."

"You're awfully chatty for a wildling, do you know that?"

"And you have lost all your piss and water."

"…vinegar. Its Piss and Vinegar."

"Who would want to drink vinegar?"

Jaime's brow screwed up at that. "No one… who would want to drink piss?"

"I've met a few men who gave me a whole deer if I pissed in their mouths."

"Another charming lesson in love from North of the Wall," Jaime grunted.

"Something is bothering you," Osha said.

"You can repeat that as much as you wish it isn't going to make it suddenly true."

"You haven't been as sarcastic or biting with your comments since we crossed the Wall. Its not being out there… you aren't one to grow worried about snow and ice." She looked forward. "It's the Child, isn't it?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

But Osha continued to press him. "I have never met one, if that makes you feel better. The children… the little ones, Bran and Jojen and Meera… they are handling it better but she scared me when I first saw her. If the Children are about it means we truly are in the time of legends. And mark my words, Jaime Lannister… the legends I know are not ones you want to be a part of."

"I don't care about your tales of grumps and snarkins."

"They care about you," Osha stated. "That is the problem with the secret things in the world… it doesn't matter if you believe in them or not. It won't keep them from killing you."

"Mantis should kill me."

He hadn't realized he'd said that out loud and jumped when Osha placed a hand on his shoulder. "What did you say?"

"Forget it."

"Why should she kill you?"

"…because I got her killed!" Jaime snapped. "There, are you happy?" He let out a huff. "I'm the reason she's now a Child of the Forest. Honorable dead, that is what you and Jojen were saying about her?" He had pressed them all about the Children after Mantis had revealed who she had once been and they had explained that the Honored Dead would join with the spirits of the Children of the Forest to create new vessels. "Well I have no honor but I was the reason she died."

Osha swallowed at that. "You knew her… from before."

Jaime nodded, rubbing his face, his eyes burning from the wind. It was the cold air that was making them hot and causing the tears to gather. "Princess Rhaenys Targaryen. When… south of the Wall we have a single king who rules over all the Seven Kingdoms-"

"So shouldn't it be one kingdom then, not seven?"

Jaime opened his mouth to complain about her interrupted before snapping it shut. "That… is a good point and when I see my brother next I'll ask him about it." He shook his head, the reason for his original melancholy rearing its ugly head once more. "I was part of a brotherhood of seven men, sworn to protect the royal family. I made a promise to lay down my life for them. I killed my king… but I don't regret that. He… he was going to kill everyone. Have you ever heard of wildfire?" Osha shook her head. "It is a liquid and when used it creates fire… and it never stops until everything is burned. Even water can't put it out. Aerys was going to light caches of it, destroy all of King's Landing. I put my sword through his belly to stop him."

"Good," Osha said firmly.

Jaime let out a dry laugh, bitter and empty. "You don't understand."

"A man that would harm those he swore to protect has lost all right to honor. When one swears to stand at the side of a chieftain the pact goes both ways. The fighter is expected to aid their chief but the chieftain is expected to lead his people so they live. A chieftain who fails to do this deserves death and the fighter strong enough to deliver that shows they hold great honor for all those that were betrayed."

Jaime… had never heard anyone put it like that. And he wondered how different his life might have been if honor was seen in those terms.

"It doesn't matter," Jaime said. "I let her die all the same. I should have rushed to her room, saved her-"

"It was never your fault, Ser Jaime," Mantis said, startling him. Somehow she had slipped around the trees and ended up walking beside him, her footfalls so light he'd never head a sound. "I do wish that it had been far more peaceful but I was dead before you killed my human half's grandfather."

Jaime frowned at that, shaking his head. "No… no… you were found and dragged out by Ser Lorch… he did not enter the castle until after I killed Aerys."

"He did not enter until then, that is true. But I had already become Mantis before that, a false body created." She was suddenly in front of him, smiling as she placed a hand on his cheek. "Aerys killed Rhaenys."

"…what?" Jaime asked. Even in the cold of the North he felt ice trickling into his veins. "No… he-"

"-feared that my mother would declare me queen. He saw threats all over. So while she had gone down to the kitchens and a maid had been left to care for Aegon he ordered soldiers to kill us. They killed me first, or at least believed they did…" she gave a little shrug, "…and then went to kill the maid and Aegon only for Ser Gregor to come upon them and slaughter them. Ser Lorch merely claimed the deed done by his hands to your father to earn praise and prize."

"Careful there!" Osha said, grabbing onto him and Jaime realized he'd begun to sway in place. "Breathe… breathe…"

It… it wasn't possible. It wasn't! He knew what had happened! Everyone did!

'Just as they know Jaime's role?' Summer asked in his head. 'Summer's boy has heard from his father how Jaime Lannister slayed the King because of dishonor… but that is not the truth.'

It was only the utter madness that his life had become that kept him from questioning the fact that it was the fucking Direwolf that was giving him comfort!

"I've upset him," Mantis said in surprise. "I did not mean to upset you, Ser Jaime!" She rushed towards him and gripped his hands in her own. "I am sorry!"

"Please… please don't ask for my forgiveness," Jaime croaked out. "I-"

Aerys had killed her. He had thought all this time that he had doomed her because he had waited to look to kill that old bastard but now he knew… he had doomed her and countless others as well. If only he had drawn his sword sooner!

He suddenly saw himself at Harrenhal, Aerys proclaiming him to be his King's Guard… and Jaime slicing off the old man's foul head right there. The shock of the crowd. The confusion… then Rhaegar demanding calm. Commanding all to be silent. Raising Jaime to his feet even as he readied himself for the blade that would take his own head and whispering, "It had to be done." Being so focused on him he never even looked at Lyanna Stark. Baratheon marrying her and… and maybe finding a bit of happiness. Brandon Stark the Lord of Winterfell and not a strangled corpse. Rickard Stark's screams not haunting his nightmares. The Princess smiling at him on her wedding day and not leading him through a forest…

Jaime shut his eyes.

"We're here," Jojen said and Jaime for the first time was thankful for the pale little sop and his lack of tact. He instantly strode forward, each step allowing him to regain some measure of balance. As he had done all his life he pushed down his own self hate and misery and plastered on a false smile as he left the others behind him.

"Its about-"

The fake grin shattered.

There, upon a massive hill, was the largest Heartstree he'd ever seen.

The damn thing was taller than most castle towers and its branches bloated out the sun. The hill it was on was rather large and yet the tree seemed to be overtaking it, turning the entire thing into a part of itself due to just its size alone. There must have been a thousand branches upon the tree and a million red leaves that rustled in the blowing winds but the mighty white tree didn't move in the slightest. And upon its trunk was carved a face so large it made the skull of Balerion the Black Dragon seem like the Last Dragon.

"An age of legends," Osha whispered from behind him and Jaime found himself not even able to nod, instead just following her as the group began to make their way towards the massive tree.

The trek took two hours, Jaime reminded of their walk to the Wall and how every time he thought they just might be nearly there it turned out there was still some much more to go. The tree grew larger and larger as they drew closer, to the point that it hurt his neck just to look up and stare at it. Adding to the experience was the sense that they were being watched but all he ever spotted were black shapes darting in the branches of the much smaller trees. Ravens, he realized, and he remembered how he'd been warned by the maester back at Casterly Rock to be careful around ravens for even the most trained of birds could bite off a man's finger at the joint or pluck an eye from the socket before one could react.

He glanced at the forest and licked his lips, wishing he was anywhere else but there even though he honestly had no idea where he'd want to be.

"This way," Mantis told them as she began to lead them up the hill and along the roots of the great weirwood, which towered over him like battlements. For a moment he thought that they were headed for the great face carved on the tree, perhaps to enter through its mouth, but Mantis easily led them through the tangled and twisting vines and suddenly there was a simple door buried in the hill and amongst the roots. The Child of the Forest easily pulled it open and motioned for them to head inside, Hodor only pausing a moment to stare at the doorway with a look of… well, Jaime couldn't quite place it but if he had to put words to it he'd have said dread which was something the giant man had never expressed before.

Jaime didn't blame him as he plunged into the tunnel beyond the door.

'We are watched, Jaime Lannister,' Summer said softly in his head. The tunnel was earthen and smelled of damp soil and bark and the only light came from strange mushrooms that glowed faintly, the light so pale and weak that it gave everything a dream-like quality, like when one woke up and their eyes were still blurry from sleep. 'And not by good things.'

'Are we in danger?'

'Summer thinks not. But it is there… like bear who sleeps but may wake up at any moment. We must be ready to protect Summer's boy.'

He found himself nodding, hands drifting to the sword at his side.

But they found nothing as they went through the tunnels. Nothing but darkness and roots and dirt. Mantis led them through the snaking tunnels, ignoring certain branching paths while taking others. Jaime fought back a shudder; he'd never admitted it to anyone, because a lion never showed weakness, but one of his greatest fears had been discovered in the Red Keep, when The White Bull had take him to get some supplies. They'd needed some nails to fix a training rack and while there were servants that could have gotten them the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had said it would be easier if they just went and got them themselves. Jaime had merely followed along, because he'd learned one didn't backtalk the White Bull if they didn't want get a smack across the back of the head, and assumed it would be a dull trip.

And then Ser Gerold had gotten lost.

Somehow they'd ended up going through the wrong door and ended up in a hall that hadn't been used in ages and even backtracking only caused them to get lost all the further. For two hours they had wandered around, Ser Gerold muttering to himself while never noticing how quiet Jaime had gotten, looking at the stone bricks that made up Maegor's Holdfast with growing terror. One time they'd gone through a hall Jaime had never seen before only to enter a room they had been in a half an hour ago, for Jaime found the marks on the dusty shelf he'd made, and he'd realized they were just going in circles.

They'd finally found a servant who had been startled to discover them there and who had led them out but that night the nightmares began to plague him. Of tunnels that stretched on forever. Of him plunging further down and down, unable to find a soul. Of finding bedrooms that contained skeletons of lost princes who had been thought to have fled the Red Keep or died in the waters of the Blackwater but had actually been forgotten about, left to starve. One truly terrifying one had seen him enter a room only to find an old man gibbering in the corner, clutching his head and weeping, the words 'Help me' written in the walls in his own filth and Jaime realizing it was himself and that he was destined to remain trapped in the Red Keep forever.

Now he wandered the tunnels of the weirwood and could feel the walls pressing in on him.

'Summer will not leave Jaime Lannister,' the direwolf told him in his head. 'Scratch Summer's head.' Jaime, after a moment, did just that. 'Good. Good. Summer knows where we go. Knows where we came from. Jaime Lannister no worry anymore, his thoughts make Summer's tail itch.'

'How can you show me any kindness?' Jaime found himself asking. 'I crippled Bran.'

'Do you plan to do so today?' Summer asked. 'Or tomorrow?'

'You can't ignore what I did because I promise not to do it again.'

'You did one act. Terrible, yes. Horrible, yes. But a single act. Even a wolf might bite a brother or a sister too hard, not meaning to. It is the wolf who bites a thousand times we must fear, not the one who does so only once. For them Summer forgives. For the lone wolf dies… but the pack survives.'

Jaime wondered what his father would have said about such a view. He supposed it would depend on the person having it. For someone that was an enemy he'd see it as stupidity; a noble idiot who turned their eye away from what truly was happening in the world and thus allowed themselves to be hurt again and again. An ally he himself was trying to court? How the world should work; just because he had caused one pain didn't mean they should trust him now?

Himself? Well, the grumbled comments about Jaime's grandfather, the soft hearted fool, filled his head rather quickly.

So lost was he in those thoughts that he nearly barreled right into Meera, only catching himself at the last moment. He opened his mouth to ask what was going on only to once more find the tongue that so many claimed had quips and insults dripping from as easily as a leaky faucet dry up.

The tunnel had opened up into a chamber of dirt and roots, nearly two stories tall. The floor was covered in wet silt, rotting vegetation, and more of those mushrooms. Walking through the muck would have been a chore but walking was the last thing Jaime had on his mind as he stared at the central focus of the chamber.

A curtain of twisting gnarled white roots framed the wall of the chamber farthest from them and tangled up in the ancient wood was a man who looked nearly as old as the tree itself. His hair was pale white and so long that even though the man's feet did not touch the ground his hair laid in the wet dirt, having long become entangled in the floor much like the roots themselves. He wore black robes that were barely managing to remain on his body and where they had become threadbare Jaime could see the man's gaunt pale form. His skin was nearly translucent, allowing Jaime to see every vein and bone and muscle in his form, like a corpse that had already been flayed. And his body was so weak that the roots had grown through him, bursting from his legs before returning to the soil so that he was anchored to the weirwood.

There were only two spots of color upon him. The first was from his remaining eye, for the other was just an empty socket left bare. But his remaining eye was blood red, like a ruby dropped in milk. Then there was the red mark on his neck and cheek, staining his pale flesh and spreading out like a grasping hand…

Or a raven with its wings in flight.

"That's… that's not possible," Jaime found himself whispered.

"Possible?" the old man said, his voice cracked and dry like firewood. He hadn't even considered the figure before him not being alive for he had just SENSED the life that remained in his form even if he appeared to be a long forgotten corpse. "Of all the things you have seen, Jaime Lannister, you still do not believe?"

"Who are you?" Bran asked, Hodor carrying him forward.

"You know who I am," the old man said, "or at least you know of one of my names. I have many."

"You are the Three Eyed Crow," Bran said.

"Crow… Raven other times. It depends on the life, I suppose. I have lived so many. Once… once I was known as Brynden."

Brynden. That name sent a chill down Jaime Lannister's spine. There was only one man in history to bear the name Brynden and the red mark upon his face: Lord Brynden Rivers.

Bloodraven.

At once his mind flashed to the maesters lessons and he idly wondered if the old man would have been proud to know Jaime had paid attention. Ser Brynden Rivers had been one of the Great Bastards of Aegon the Unworthy. Unlike others though he had refused to side with the Blackfyres or accept their new family name, choosing the wear the bastard name with pride, embracing who he was. And why shouldn't he when he'd proven to be a cunning warrior who had save the Targeryens and then become Hand of the King for his trueborn family? Even when said family had demanded he take the Black he had done so with humility, or so the maesters claimed, and rose to the ranks of Lord Commander until he'd finally disappeared, leaving the pages of history.

Tyrion had loved the stories of Bloodraven but not for the reasons one might have expected.

"Oh, they all assume it is because I admire what he did despite his looks," Tyrion had once told him. "After all, he is nearly as hideous as I am!" He had laughed even as Jaime scowled at his brother mocking himself. "But, brother, I admire what he did not because of the grand works… but how he was able to trick so many. He is a villain to many, yes… but he is a hero to others. And all feared him. And rightfully so. That was a man who understood how to wield power."

The old adage bumped about in Jaime's head: how many eyes does Lord Bloodraven have? A thousand and one.

"But… you promised you would help me," Bran was saying and Jaime realized that as he had been thinking of the man who had orchestrated the deaths of thousands without a care Bran had been engaging the very figure in conversation. And suddenly Jaime wanted to do nothing more than to grab the boy and whisk him away.

"And I will," Bloodraven told him. He tried to smile but it was a rictus thing that seemed to tear at his skin more than stretch it. "I promise you that we will help each other."

"But I need to walk again."

"And you will. But first… I must teach you to fly."

"You must listen to him, Bran," Jojen said softly. "Only by listening can you discover your destiny."

"Your friend is right, Brandon Stark," Bloodraven stated. "We have little time. The Others gather and while there have been moves to drive them back it won't be enough. We must be ready to strike ourselves." He waved his hand and Hodor took Bran to the foot of the roots, setting the boy down and making sure that he was propped up before stepping back; for such a large and awkward man Hodor was surprisingly gentle and delicate. "Now, the first thing we must do is teach you to understand how the trees speak."

"But… trees do not talk," Bran said.

"And crows do not have three eyes," Bloodraven told him with a teasing tone. "They do speak… one must merely learn how to listen. That is important… for trees are old and keep stories long forgotten by men. And they bury their stories deep in the earth, where only their roots might reach. Come… come… let me show you."

Jaime watched for nearly an hour but soon found himself growing bored. Bloodraven hadn't even said a word to any of them, acting as if they weren't there, and Jaime had come to understand the unsaid dismissal. His father and Brynden Rivers would have gotten along well, trading notes on how to be rude in the politest way possible.

Despite his disinterest in seeing Bran and Bloodraven… just stare at each other, for they didn't say a word after that talk of speaking to trees… Jaime was the last the leave the chamber. Jojen had been the first, surprisingly enough, and Jaime wondered why the boy didn't seem to care about Bran's lessons when he had been the one pressing them on. Perhaps he felt they weren't for him? Hodor had ended up getting up and trudging away and then Meera and Osha had quietly walked up to him and said that Mantis was going to show them where they could sleep and eat and he had nodded. That had been his mistake; he had assumed, much like when he'd stood guard at the King's door, that someone would come to relieve him. But his companions were not Kingsguard and thus he eventually realized that he needed to find them as they would not seek him out.

Which meant the tunnels.

'I hope you are right, Summer,' he thought, trying to make the words in his head as loud as possible so that the direwolf would hear them. But as he walked through the tunnels the wolf never came bounding towards him and the old fears began to gather around him again. Even though the tunnel he walked down was straight with no branching paths he kept looking back and several times had made a mark on the wall and then returned to it 5 minutes later, just to make sure he wasn't getting lost.

Onward and onward he went and he realized that while he'd thought it was the tunnel the others had taken it couldn't possibly be because he should have found them by now. They wouldn't have left Bran that far away, would they? What if he needed them? Or was that the point? Did Bloodraven want them so far away that if he did something to Bran they couldn't help him?

Cersei would have laughed. Jaime had shoved Bran out a window. He had meant to kill the boy. And yet here he was now, twisting to run back into the chamber, cursing himself for having left him for even a moment, and swearing that he would stand guard for the crippled bone until-

Even as he began to run back the way he came he realized that the tunnel was shifting upwards.

He turned, thinking maybe he'd gotten spun around, only to realize the tunnel was elevating towards the surface that way too. And… there was pale light.

Jaime knew he had to get back to Bran. He had to. The boy was small and he couldn't defend himself and he'd failed Rhaenys and little baby Aegon who had loved to grab at his nose and he would NOT fail now, he would not, he would-

But he still found himself rushing forward, driven towards the light, bursting out into the inky night of the Lands of Always Winter.

Osha had been telling Jaime that the night's sky in the South was an ugly thing, all black with a few pin pricks of white. He hadn't understood what she meant… the night's sky was the night's sky. But now, looking up to find streaking planes of green, blue, and purple lights above his head he understood and he wished that he had the time to just sit and admire the sky above him because he truly had never seen anything so beautiful in his entire life. The glow seemed to give everything a blessed quality, chasing away the darkness and the fear and leaving only a sense of calm. Even as he slowly turned and found himself staring at the carved face within the giant weirwood, its massive featuring staring down at him, he didn't feel the dread or worry he might have felt had he come upon the face in the daylight hours. No… he merely walked towards in, craning his neck up… and knew.

"Who… who are you?" he asked.

The tree answered.

"We are the ones that came before," a man's voice said.

"Before the Andals," a woman stated.

"Before the First Men," a girl supplied.

"Before the Children," a boy answered.

Jaime swallowed and dropped to his knees. "You are the Old Gods."

"We are," a different man's voice stated.

"Why… why are you speaking to me?" Jaime asked, feeling like Hodor was sitting on his chest. He couldn't breathe deeply and it felt like his lungs were being crushed but he pushed on all the same. "I… I was raised in the Light of the Seven-"

"If a woman is being raped and you save herdoes she care that you swear to a king she never met? That you use a weapon she has never seen?" The voice switched genders rapidly, nearly every other word, and Jaime gave up trying to identity them as it seemed as if there were a thousand voices speaking, each waiting their turn. They began to blend together so that it wasn't many speaking but one… one with a thousand voices. "We care for all, not just those that remember us. And besides… your Seven are honorable and good in the end. And they will play their part, just as all must against the threat that comes."

Jaime swallowed at that. "You… you speak of-"

"The spearwife was not telling tales, Lion of Lannister. The Others have returned."

He wanted to deny it. He wanted to laugh and scoff and tell them that those were just fables and myths, created by stupid northerners who made themselves feel better about their shitty little lives eating snow and squatting on frozen fields by believing they were ready to defend the world against some long lost evil. But… he didn't. Because he was speaking to the Old Gods. Had seen the dead return. Had seen what should have been dead remain.

So instead Jaime looked right at the face in the heartstree and asked, "What can I do?"

"…that is the proper way to word it. Not what 'must' you do. What 'can' you do. Because you do have a choice. Understand that. You… have a choice.

"All have a role to play. The Great Battle moves ever closer and those that will determine the fate of this world gather their strength. Antony Stark forges new armor with the last of Blackfyres. The Firestar joins with the Worldbreaker. The Spiders and the Centurion learn from each other. Your brother has found the teacher to show him his destiny supreme.

"There is darkness too. The Lord Captain marches to face the Commander but he does not know what awaits him. The Crowseye goes to the pit where the threat from beyond the stars waits. And below you… the Bloodraven schemes."

Jaime tensed at that. "Then I was right not to trust him."

"Ser Brynden has a role to play. He is of use to us… that is why we sent him Mantis. But… we know he is not satisfied with merely serving a purpose. He will want more. And when that time comes-"

"Why not just kill him now?"

"Because the fate of the world depends upon Bran Stark. And only the Bloodraven can help him become who he was born to be."

"And that is?"

"A vision."

Jaime considered that, silent for several moments before finally speaking. "What can I do to protect Bran?"

The Old Gods were silent.

"Please."

"You have sworn to protect many people, Jaime Lannister. Your siblings. Your kings. Your princes and princesses. You have failed them all."

"I know," he whispered. "There… there are some I do not regret, if only that I wish I had broken my vow sooner. Others… I did not understand what I was pledging and once I did I knew that I could not protect them. And others… despite what others may claim… I will regret that till my dying day."

Even though the carved face did not even twitch, remaining solid and unmoving, he could feel its eyes burning into his form, judging him, weighing his words and acts against his desires.

His tears fell into the snow he knelt in.

"We offer you this chance… but you must understand what must be given up. For as with all of your pledges before… there is a cost. You will be forever tied to us, Jaime Lannister. This is not a vow you can break. You will fight and protect the realm of the living and only the worst of deaths will free you from this promise."

"I accept."

"People flocked to you even as they scorned your name… the reverse will not be true. All will tremble in fear at your visage… but they will call out to you in their time of need."

"I don't care. I just… for one time in my life… I want to do something right."

"Then take your weapon."

There was a light groaning sound, like faggots of wood rubbing against one another, and when Jaime turned he saw that where the tunnel's opening had been the roots had shifted… and upon the ground lay a sword.

All the old myths said that heroes found swords buried in rocks or hidden in dusty chests in forgotten rooms or lying hidden in lakes blessed by water nymphs. But this sword just laid there amongst the leaves and the dirt and it seemed so very wrong for it to be there. Blasphemous. As he crawled towards it he felt his hands shake, the utter disgust that the sword had been so casually dropped there filling him.

It was a slender blade, made for a woman's hand originally. The pommel was made to look like a round bulb of fire and the crossbar was the same dark gold. Its wrappings were burnt bronze and a ruby had been placed in its center. The metal rippled with smoke, as if the sword remembered the fires that had forged it, so long ago that the method had been forgotten.

"Dark Sister," Jaime whispered.

"Bloodraven has no need for it. He abandoned it when he discovered his powers of vision. It has waited for you, Jaime Lannister. Take it and cast aside forever the name Kingslayer. Become who you were born to be."

He swallowed… and grasped the handle.

The moment he did the cold that had been seeping into his bones was burned away and he found himself unable to even cry out as flames replaced the chill. His very body was on fire and he threw his head back as the inferno burst out of him. The furs he was wearing burnt away and underneath he found himself wearing black leather armor he had never worn before and yet was as familiar to him as any garment he'd ever donned.

"You will be our weapon against the darkness. As Thanos makes mockery of the living with his wights… we make mockery of the dead with you."

Jaime looked down at his hands, watching as the skin blacked and cracked before it fell away, becoming ash. He reached up and felt his cheek crumble but it was alright. It was fine. This… was what was supposed to happen.

"You are our champion. Our warrior."

The flames burst around Jaime's head as the last of his flesh and muscle burned away as he stood up with Dark Sister, leaving wreathed in the blaze only his skull.

"Our Spirit… of Vengeance."