The journey North has been intense, with Jaime spurred on by the fear of arriving too late, of being isolated has the Night King already won and then marched south, thus finding himself in the middle, alone, without an army to attack with, and far away from Cersei, unable to protect her.
But the journey South is much worse, because Jaime knows that Arya and The Hound have had a few days advantage over him and that Daenerys' army is on its way to launch an attack on King's Landing.
A single horse is unable to withstand the pace that Jaime wants to impose on his mount, but fortunately he has enough coin with him to change steeds frequently and forces himself to stay in the saddle until exhaustion. More than once he ties himself to the saddle so as not to fall, focused only on urging the mount of the day South along the Kingsroad.
He hardly stops to eat, buying bread, dried meat or cheese from time to time; a bag of apples and a flask of water are all he needs to sustain himself during the long journey.
He doesn't want to admit the back pain in the early days because of the mad pace of galloping. In his mind there is only the thought of his twin, the idea of returning to her, convincing her to surrender and flee; his goal is the Rock, where the network of Lannister relatives could help them hide at least until childbirth.
Three, four months, that's all he asks for, enough time for Cersei to give birth to the baby she carries in her womb.
Past the Neck the climate changes and Jaime tries to sleep under the stars wrapped up in a blanket without looking for an inn or tavern, but the bare ground seems much harder to him than it had in the past.
It is yet another sign that he is no longer the cocky warrior, the experienced commander of an army, but simply a desperate man who does not want to lose the other half of himself.
Arriving in Harrenhal he no longer remembers who is in control of it, so he takes a room in an inn outside the city, asking for hot water, no longer enduring not to clean himself.
He had stumbled two days earlier on a large rock and now the pain in his ankle is a constant torment, each step is difficult and Jaime struggles to climb the stairs.
He completely immerses himself into the water, even his head, before soaping thoroughly; another bathroom, in another life, Brienne, a thought Jaime can't afford.
The naked body of the Wench, dripping with water, the same body that he had held tight during a night made more of euphoria for their victory than of true passion.
The body wasn't the familiar one, it wasn't hers, it wasn't Her.
Jaime has thanked the Gods that Brienne was inexperienced enough not to notice how poor a lover he had been that night in Winterfell.
The exaltation he had felt, the wine he had drunk, the joy of victory, had pushed him towards the Wench, but he had lasted maybe a dozen thrusts after entering her, barely able to pull out in time and let his seed paint the woman's thighs white.
To cover his poor performance, he had slipped between her legs, to touch and taste.
A light trace of blood had confirmed to him that Brienne was a virgin, so he has closed his eyes to rely on memories, to proceed automatically and not think about the dishonour brought to her. Afterwards, he had been glad that Brienne has turned to sleep on the opposite side to him, so as not to cross his gaze; she would have easily read the remorse and shame on his face.
With his back to the wall, forced to choose, Jaime has no doubts: always and only Cersei.
He can't stay in the water for long for fear of falling asleep. He has ordered dinner from the innkeeper and asked to be woken up at dawn to resume the journey.
The bed is a delight for his sore back, he collapses as soon as he lies on it.
The crowd is a river in flood, endless, no way to cross it, nor to get out of it. No way to escape the procession of desperate faces fleeing the danger hanging over their heads.
Jaime comes forward with his hand, defending himself, as if it were a weapon, pushing against the bodies that oppose him.
A woman sees the golden hand and starts screaming, louder than the people's noise.
"Kingslayer! Golden hand!"
For a moment there is silence, the escape stops, everyone looks at him and quickly around Jaime a void is created.
Isolated, surrounded, Jaime hears a rumble like thunder in the air.
The dragon's in a dive. It descends relentlessly against Jaime who, out of desperation, takes off his hand and throws it at the winged creature.
An impulsive, stupid gesture.
He has no other weapons available, a hand against a dragon means certain death.
He would need a long spear and a horse, as in battle, instead he is on foot, without armour, an easy prey.
The hand rises upwards and enlarges, it appears huge and the dragon opens his mouth and throws a river of flames that makes the gold red hot, melting it; drops like darts fall on Jaime's hair and face and pierce him like thin needles.
Widow's wail is bright in the darkness of the bowels of the royal fortress, it remains connected to his right wrist even without the hand to hold it. Jaime proceeds without the need for torches hanging on the wall; the servants have escaped, no one puts new ones up or adds oil to the lamps. Jaime climbs to look for Cersei and every step becomes higher and higher, more and more difficult.
At the sides of the stairs there are doors that reveal rooms full of light and Jaime sees figures he feels he knows but can't name, he's sure that they're all dead and that if he's not quick he will be dead too, because their swords are black and his is losing light the more his effort in climbing increases.
A few steps are missing; he sees the sky from the window waiting for him and he almost has to use his arms to climb from how high they are. He hears Cersei's voice calling to him, she is shouting, she is screaming and Jaime strives to be fast, his sword now a torch at the tip, and when he sees his twin he notices that the front of her dress is red with blood, and Cersei holds her belly, mouth wide open and blood descending down her legs. Jaime fails to stop it, Cersei becomes paler and more fragile, until she falls to the ground, lifeless, in front of him.
Jaime awakens shaking in a bath of sweat, his throat dry, his breathing frantic.
He moves the blanket to sit up, groping for the jug of water in the semi-darkness.
The moonlight is scarce, beyond the window it is late at night, but he knows that he will no longer be able to go back to sleep.
In his state of agitation it is dangerous to continue the journey immediately; his legs are unstable on getting up to reach the chamber pot.
The horse has the right to rest a few hours too, there are no suitable beasts available in the inn, so he must carry on with the same steed for another day.
Such vivid nightmares remind him of Myrcella's death, when for days he wasn't able to sleep, because every time he touched the pillow and closed his eyes his daughter's bloody face appeared to him.
Ever since Cersei revealed to him that she was pregnant again, Jaime began to hope it was another daughter; this time he would protect her immediately, he would not repeat the same mistakes of the past and above all he would be her real father, in the eyes of Gods and men, regardless of the sins he committed for love.
As Jaime stretches out again, sweat makes him shudder, and he grabs the blanket looking for a little warmth, because the fire burns low and only embers shine.
He calls Cersei to mind, focuses on her face that he easily recalls from his memory.
But the dream does not want to go away and the vision of his twin sister immersed in the blood of their child is too painful to be just a dream.
Jaime rarely believes in omens or prophecies, but this sounds like a sign, the crowd repeatedly calling him "Golden Hand", pressing close around him to touch his hand.
Jaime takes the golden object and the sword from the chair; they are both intact, the handle is cold, the blade does not burn and the hand is still in one piece.
They are the symbols of his house and of himself, forged by his father and his sister, imposed on him; he stares at both, there is something they want to tell him and he will have no peace until he finds the answer.