Hello my dear readers!

I've been busy lately between my work and studies (as always), yet I haven't forgotten this baby.

Last time I forgot to thank you for the reviews and adding to favorite/alert this story. I thank you again this time. Really, your comments and adding my story to favorite/alerts mean too much for me.

As always, I don't own A Song of Ice and Fire books and GOT show, except for my OCs and part of the story. English is my second (foreign) language, Spanish is my first. Sorry for the typos.

Enjoy!


Chapter 8

JAIME

His hand burned.

Still, still, long after they had snuffed out the torch they'd used to sear his bloody stump, days after, he could still feel the fire lancing up his arm, and his fingers twisting in the flames, the fingers he no longer had.

He had taken wounds before, but never like this. He had never known there could be such pain. Sometimes, unbidden, old prayers bubbled from his lips, prayers he learned as a child and never thought of since, prayers he had first prayed with Cersei kneeling beside him in the sept at Casterly Rock. Sometimes he even wept, until he heard the Mummers laughing. Then he made his eyes go dry and his heart go dead, and prayed for his fever to burn away his tears.

Now I know how Tyrion has felt, all those times they laughed at him.

Locke had hung it about his neck on a cord, so it dangled down against his chest. His right eye was swollen shut, the wound inflamed where Brienne had cut him during their fight, but it was his hand that hurt the most. Blood and pus seeped from his stump, and the missing hand throbbed every time the horse took a step.

When Jaime slipped out of consciousness, he heard a woman's weeping but it ended when he fell from the saddle. For a moment he thought it was Brienne, but it wasn't her and the Brave Companions didn't have another woman as a hostage, only Brienne.

"How many of those fingers do you think we could shove up his arse?" said one of the Brave Companions.

"Depending of if he has something to practice that the sort of thing you and your sister and your wife go in for Kingslayer." Jaime heard Locke said by his side. "They loosened you up for us."

Again, Jaime was slipping out of consciousness. He heard a woman's weeping, this time it was clearer than before.

"Jaime…" said the woman in the middle of her weeps. That voice… Lylian…?!

Everything ended when he fall from the horse for a second time, he grunted in pain because he fall over his right arm and, for more humiliation, he fall into a mud pit.

His throat was so raw that he could not eat. "Water… Water…" Jaime tried to say. Locke come closer with a waterskin. When Jaime thought he was going to drink water, Locke poured it over his head and the Brave Companions roared in laugh. "If I die, you won't be…"

"Enough…" Locke said while he was coming with another skin for him. "Here…" Jaime took the skin and he quaffed it straight away, trembling. "I've never seen a man drink horse piss that fast." The Brave Companions laugh at him again. Jaime was so thirsty he drank it anyway, but afterward he retched it all back up.

A madness took hold of him and he reached a sword from one of the men with his left hand and wrenched it clumsily from its scabbard. Let them kill me, he thought, so long as I die fighting, a blade in hand. But it was no good. Another man came hopping from leg to leg, dancing nimbly aside when Jaime slashed at him. Unbalanced, he staggered forward, hacking wildly at the fool, but the same man spun and ducked and darted until all the Brave Companions were laughing at Jaime's futile efforts to land a blow. Suddenly, Jaime grunted in pain as he fell face down into the mud when someone kicked his knees.

Locke walked towards Jaime who was scrambling to grab the fallen sword, Locke put his foot over Jaime's hand. "You try that again, and I'll take your other hand."

After that, they bound him tight to Brienne of Tarth and made them share a horse again. Instead of back to front, they bound them face-to-face. "The lovers," one of the men sighed loudly, Shagwell was his name. "and what a lovely sight they are. 'Twould be cruel to separate the good knight and his lady." Then he laughed that high shrill laugh of his, and said, "What would your lady wife say, Kingslayer?"

If I had my hand, you'd learn that soon enough, Jaime thought. Then his thoughts turn to Lylian, thinking of her burn his chest badly. Jaime wanted his Wild Wolf wife; he missed her voice and laughs, especially when she sings; he missed her arms around him and his arms around her, protecting his little wife no matter if she doesn't need protection; bury himself in her long hair and small body, smell that sweet scent of hers. Jaime wanted to be with her, never leave her side again.

His arms ached and his legs were numb from the ropes, but after a while none of that mattered. His world shrunk to the throb of agony that was his phantom hand, and Brienne pressed against him. He pretend for a moment she was his wife, at least, he consoled himself, though the wench's breath was as foul as his own.

Every time Jaime slipped out of consciousness, he still hear that weeping and his name through Lylian's voice; also, the image of a blonde woman and blue eyes were in his dreams, Jaime never have seen this woman before, but she was there when he was unconscious, looking at him with tears in her eyes.

One night, Jaime lay on his back afterward, staring at the night sky, trying not to feel the pain that snaked up his right arm every time he moved it. The night was strangely beautiful. The moon was a graceful crescent, and it seemed as though he had never seen so many stars. The King's Crown was at the zenith, and he could see the Stallion rearing, and there the Swan. The Moonmaid, shy as ever, was half-hidden behind a pine tree. How can such a night be beautiful? he asked himself. Why would the stars want to look down on such as me?

"Jaime," Brienne whispered, so faintly he thought he was dreaming it. "Jaime, what are you doing?"

"Dying," he whispered back.

"No," she said, "no, you must live."

He wanted to laugh. "Stop telling me what do, wench. I'll die if it pleases me."

"Are you so craven?"

The word shocked him. He was Jaime Lannister, a knight of the Kingsguard, he was the Kingslayer. No man had ever called him craven. Other things they called him, yes; oathbreaker, liar, murderer. They said he was cruel, treacherous, reckless. But never craven. "What else can I do, but die?"

"Live," she said, "live, and fight, and take revenge." But she spoke too loudly. A man named Rorge heard her voice, if not her words, and came over to kick her, shouting at her to hold her bloody tongue if she wanted to keep it.

Craven, Jaime thought, as Brienne fought to stifle her moans. Can it be? They took my sword hand. Was that all I was, a sword hand? Gods be good, is it true?

Then again, he heard Lylian's voice. "Live Jaime! Live! I need you to be alive and kill those sons of bitches! You're the fucking Kingslayer! A fucking Lannister!" He could see her clearly as day when he closed his eyes, Lylian cupping his face looking at him frowning and screaming at him, almost angry at him.

The wench had the right of it. He could not die. Lylian was waiting for him in Riverrun. She need him, and even more when they lost their child… Jaime promised to rescue her, he can't broke any more promises to her. And Tyrion, his little brother, who loved him for a lie.

When morning came, he made himself eat. They fed him a mush of oats, horse food, but he forced down every spoon. He ate again at evenfall, and the next day.

"Live Jaime! Live! I need you to be alive and kill those sons of bitches! You're the fucking Kingslayer! A fucking Lannister!" Lylian's words keep repeating in his head. Live, he told himself harshly, when the mush was like to gag him, live for Lylian, live for Tyrion. Live for vengeance. A Lannister always pays his debts. His missing hand throbbed and burned and stank. When I reach King's Landing I'll have a new hand forged, a golden hand, and one day I'll use it to rip out Locke's throat.

Through the entire ride to Harrenhal, Jaime was silent and kept busy on being alive for his wife and his little brother. Holding kicks and punches from the Brave Companions, until he fainted because one of the men decide to slammed a boot into his stump.

The gates open as Locke's men lead them into the castle where they are greeted by Lord Roose Bolton. Locke pushed the two of them to the ground on their knees, however for Jaime, instinct made him put out his hands to stop his fall. When his stump smashed against the ground the pain was blinding, yet somehow he managed to fight his way back to one knee.

"Lord Bolton, I give you the Kingslayer." Locke said gleefully as he push him again to the ground, grunting again when Jaime fall over his right arm.

"Pick him up, Locke." Lord Bolton commanded. When they help him stood up, Roose Bolton eyes the now very pale and rotting hand hanging around Jaime's neck. "You've lost a hand."

"No, my Lord, he has it here." Locke jested, but Lord Bolton didn't find it funny.

Lord Bolton snapped the cord, and flung the hand at Locke. "Take this away. The sight of it offends me."

Locke then jested again. "Send it to his father-"

"You'll hold your tongue unless you want to lose it." Lord Bolton snapped, his eyes flashing. Then he look to Brienne. "Cut her free." He commanded. "My apologies, my lady. You are under my protection now."

"Thank you, my lord." Brienne said while a man was cutting the ropes of her hands.

Lord Bolton turn again to Jaime. "Find a suitable rooms for our guests." He commanded to someone. "We speak later." Lord Bolton said before leaving from where he came.

"Lord Bolton." Jaime called and Roose Bolton turn to him. "There's a word from the Capitol? From my wife?" His words slurred. Fever was taking him, he began to feel lightheaded.

"You haven't heard?" Roose Bolton asked surprised. "Stannis Baratheon laid siege to King's Landing. Sailed into Blackwater Bay. Stormed the gates with thousands of men and your sister… how can I put this?" Bolton paused for a moment as he get close to him. "Your sister is well, as is your… nephew." Bolton paused again before he said nephew, the pauses give the interpretation that he knew. "Your brother also lives, though he took a wound in the battle. As for your wife, it is said she lost her firstborn. My apologies for both of you. She's still at Riverrun with Lady Catelyn and King Robb Stark."

Jaime felt how his knees got weaker and he fall to the ground again. He could barely hear Bolton's command. Unconsciousness was taking Jaime again, he only has on his mind his family in King's Landing and Lylian's state and the death of their first child together.

He came back when someone throw him into a chair and leave him with a grey-haired, fatherly man and dressed like a Maester named Qyburn in front of him. The man began to remove the linen from Jaime's stump, the movement of the linen hurt Jaime's arm.

"That bad? Will I die?"

Qyburn pushed at the wound with a finger, and wrinkled his nose at the gush of pus. "No. The corruption has spread." He sliced away Jaime's sleeve. "The safest course would be to take the arm off."

"Then you'll die," Jaime promised. Then he noticed something on the men dressing. "You're not Maester. Where's your chain?"

"The Citadel strip me of it." Qyburn answered while he was clearing the wound of everything that the stump has. "They found some of my experiments too bold." Then the man grab a tweezers. "I can leave you the upper arm, make the cut at your elbow, but..."

Jaime didn't let the old man continue and grab him from his neck. "I don't need my right hand to kill you." Then Jaime push it back to the chair.

Qyburn looked in his eyes. Whatever he saw there gave him pause. "I can take the rotting flesh and try to burn out the corruption with boiling wine. With any luck that will suffice." Then Qyburn grab a small bottle. "You'll need milk of the poppy-"

"No milk of the puppy." Jaime dare not let himself be put to sleep; he might be short an arm when he woke, no matter what the man said.

Qyburn was taken aback. "There will be pain."

"I'll scream."

"A great deal of pain."

"I'll scream very loudly."

Qyburn grab a belt to hold his arm to the armchair, Jaime began to feel the first signs of what was coming when the man tighten his right arm, near the stump. Nothing helped when the time came to pare away the rotten flesh. Jaime did scream then, and pounded his table with his good fist, over and over and over again. He screamed again when Qyburn poured boiling wine over what remained of his stump. Despite all his vows and all his fears, he lost consciousness for a time.

"Jaime… You need to live… Do it for me…" Jaime heard Lylian's voice. Then, he saw Lylian's face but it was blurry. Lylian's face was stained with other colors and then her face disappeared, and he was seeing another face. The same blonde woman with her blue watered eyes looking at him. "Live Jaime… Do it for me…" that woman said to him with the voice of Lylian.

When he woke, the Maester was sewing at his arm with needle and catgut. "I left a flap of skin to fold back over your wrist." Qyburn put away his needle. "I should do something about that wound above your eye as well. The flesh is badly inflamed."

Jaime closed his eyes and let the wine and Qyburn do their work. "Tell me of the battle." As keeper of Harrenhal's ravens, Qyburn would have been the first to hear the news.

"Lord Stannis was caught between your father and the fire. It's said the Imp set the river itself aflame."

Jaime saw green flames reaching up into the sky higher than the tallest towers, as burning men screamed in the streets. I have dreamed this dream before. It was almost funny, but there was no one to share the joke. Then his thoughts turn to his Wild Wolf. "You've heard news about my wife?"

"Your lady wife is at Riverrun. It is said that she lost her firstborn." Qyburn stopped himself for a moment and look at him with an apologetic look. "My apologies."

Jaime was dead worried about Lylian. The last time I saw her was unconscious and very thin, Jaime thought, I don't want to lose her, she is the reason I must live. If she wakes up and wants another child or a hundred, I will give that to her. I'll do anything to for her, whatever she asks.

"Open your eye." Qyburn soaked a cloth in warm water and dabbed at the crust of dried blood. The eyelid was swollen, but Jaime found he could force it open halfway. Qyburn's face loomed above. "How did you come by this one?" the Maester asked.

"It was a gift. The woman who was with me give it to me. You'd best see to her as well. She's still limping on the leg I pricked when we fought."

"I will ask after her. What is this woman to you?"

"My protector." Jaime had to laugh, no matter how it hurt.

"I'll grind some herbs you can mix with wine to bring down your fever. Come back on the morrow and I'll put a leech on your eye to drain the bad blood."

"A leech. Lovely."

"Lord Bolton is very fond of leeches," Qyburn said primly.

"Yes," said Jaime. "He would be."