Author's note: I apologise in advance for this chapter. The warnings on this story of EXTREME GRAPHIC VIOLENCE apply particularly here. If you're squeamish, maybe skip to the next chapter (when I write it), you'll still know what happens without the details. I promise this is the worst the story gets so I hope you forgive me this one harrowing but necessary chapter and stick with the story. Don't hate me.
She expected them to cut off her foot, but that would have been too quick. What they wanted took more time.
The girl threw her body from side-to-side, but the weight of four men was impossible to shake. A dark-skinned man knelt and took hold of her foot, and she heard Locke say 'Slowly, Zollo.' Then the coldness of steel on her skin.
The pain was astonishing. Breathtaking. She went into shock, her body writhed and all her muscles contracted to try and escape the intensity of it, but there was no escape. She screamed.
Time stretched out. She realised that time was not constant. A minute spent in agony was the longest minute in the world, it was an endless present. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else even existed. Just white-hot, excruciating, unbearable pain. She thought she knew what pain was but she realised she'd had no idea. Not even an inkling. She would have torn off her leg to escape it if she could. Chewed it off with her own teeth. She screamed and screamed and it didn't even sound like her. It didn't even sound human.
She couldn't breathe, but she had to, to scream again. Blood ran down her chin and she gurgled and spluttered. She was dimly aware she must've bitten her tongue, and hadn't even felt it. The pain in her foot was all-consuming. She would have given them anything, said anything, betrayed anyone, for them to just stop, please gods just please please stop, but the men didn't want anything from her, except her screams. She blacked out for a second of blissful nothingness, but they tipped water on her face to rouse her. She thought it couldn't get any worse and then they started on her other toe.
For infinite minutes, she forgot who she was, where she was, why this was happening, everything, she was just a mass of shrieking nerve endings and suffering . Then, abruptly, the pain lessened.
She gulped in air, the relief from fierce agony like a cool wave washing over her. Her heart thumped in her ribcage. She was grateful for the respite, however brief it may be. The men holding her arms and legs released their grip, their attention directed further down the hill. She couldn't have stood up, anyway. A compulsive shivering had taken over her muscles.
Above the wind she heard the tattoo of hooves. A horse and rider came weaving up through the trees, the horse dripping with sweat from having galloped flat out a considerable distance. Flecks of white from its distended nostrils blew back to streak onto its chest.
Jaime dismounted and came walking towards them. The wind-tossed trees bowed their leaves as he passed. The girl couldn't believe he was real. Only the pain had been real, only the pain existed. Jaime seemed like an apparition.
Apparently he was real enough though, for all the men, without exception, to stand upright and draw their weapons. Shields were raised. Swords lifted. Zollo wiped his blood-slippery hands and took up his curved arakh. The only sounds were the girl's uncontrolled breaths, the rush of the wind and Jaime's approaching footsteps. Locke wrapped his fist in the girl's hair, jerking her head up as it lolled forward.
Jaime glanced first in her direction and grimaced slightly. Because of Locke's grip, the girl couldn't look down at her foot, even if she'd wanted to. She wondered idly how bad a mess it was, to make Jaime grimace.
He stopped far enough away to be just out of reach. His hands by his sides, sword still in its scabbard. The men fanned out to face him, leaving Locke and the girl in the centre of the group. Jaime was their sole focus. His presence was mesmerising, undeniable.
As if the pain had swept through her senses and cleaned them out, the girl felt alive like never before. She saw the men's chainmail and heavy weapons, the shields, the number of them. She saw Jaime standing there on his own, all careless charisma, and knew beyond doubt he was hopelessly outnumbered.
She felt detached about dying. As long as I never have to feel that pain again, she thought. Dying I can handle.
Jaime surveyed the scene in front of him with mild distaste, as if he'd turned over a stone and uncovered an assortment of cockroaches. He sighed. Drummed his fingers on his thigh and waited.
Locke spoke first. 'So glad you showed up, Kingslayer. We wasn't sure you was coming.' He dragged the girl up by her hair to a kneeling position beside him. 'From the Queen, to a Noblewoman, to a slut. Yer standards is slippin'.'
'At least I have standards,' Jaime said.
'I did tell her to speak up, so's you could hear her.' Locke grinned.
'Oh, I could hear her just fine.' Jaime's gold hair whipped across his face and his green eyes looked grey in the overcast light. 'She was telling you to go fuck yourself.'
The two men appraised each other in silence for a moment, as if taking one another's measure. The girl wondered what Jaime was thinking. It was impossible to guess beneath his composed expression. Now he's seen how many he's up against, does he regret coming back? Will he turn around again, and leave?
'Yer lookin' well, Kingslayer,' Locke said. 'Shame. I did like you filthy and in chains.'
Jaime unsheathed his sword in a smooth motion, and the men closest to him took a cautious step back. 'Do you use that line often? No wonder you have no luck with women.'
Locke twisted the girl's hair and pulled her head back so that blood and saliva ran down her throat and she choked. 'Speakin' of which. You seem to be gettin' a mite careless with yours. Leavin' them behind to my tender affections.' He tutt-tutted. 'Being one of the Kingslayer's whores is turnin' out to be a hazardous occupation, ain't it.'
Jaime didn't even blink, let alone make any move towards Locke. 'If you're envious of my prowess with women, I could give you some tips,' he said, coolly. 'Try not cutting bits off them. I find that works wonders.'
The girl swallowed her own blood and prayed Jaime had some plan to save her. But he kept his distance.
'You got all the clever lines, Kingslayer,' Locke said, unimpressed. 'But I got meself a big knife and what's left of yer lady-friend's foot on its blade, so I'd watch your tongue in case I decide I don't like one of yer jokes.' To illustrate, Locke leaned down and turned the point into the raw flesh where her toes had been, and the girl let out a sob, unable to stop herself. 'So why don't you just save us all some time and put that sword o' yours down.'
Jaime did nothing. The girl could see his jaw clench, and he glanced over their heads into the distance, but otherwise he looked unconcerned.
Locke smiled. 'You can stand over there long as you like, Kingslayer. We ain't gonna come at you, like them poor villagers, so you can cut us down one by one. But while yer standing there, ask yerself. Is she still gonna be fuckable without a foot?' Locke paused as if inviting Jaime to answer. 'Some men like that sorta thing though, don't they, and I heard you have odd tastes.' He raised the knife from the girl's ankle and held the point of it to the corner of her right eye. 'How 'bout without an eye? You still fancy her then?'
'Stick it up 'er and fuck 'er bloody,' Zollo snickered in heavy accented speech. He was standing to one side of Locke with his curved arakh poised.
Jaime sucked a breath in through his teeth and turned to Zollo. 'Let me guess. You don't have much luck with women, either.'
'The women Zollo is lucky with don't get no say in the matter,' Locke said. 'Now be a good boy Jaime, and put yer sword down before some whore gets hurt.' The knife blade slid into the girl's eye an incremental bit more, and she trembled all over. Tears spilled unbidden down her face as the steel started to bite.
Still Jaime didn't move, although his face hardened. He appeared to be in no hurry to resolve the situation. The girl didn't understand. It was almost as if he were stalling for time, although what benefit that could possibly be was beyond her comprehension. Surely he hadn't come back here just to watch her get tortured.
'She's not my whore,' Jaime said. 'Just a local who was helping me to navigate.'
'Navigate?' Locke said. 'Is that what you call it now? I heard these savages is particularly skilled in navigation.'
Jaime shifted his weight, flexed his fingers on the handle of his sword.
'Not that it woulda taken much, I imagine,' Locke went on in a goading tone, 'Probably didn't even have to give her a posy hey? I imagine she just spread her legs for you right off. Her kind is like that.'
Zollo chortled at this.
'Zollo here, he 'ad a passing acquaintance with this girl's mother, years back. Bein' an ex-Dothraki, he knows a savage slut when he sees one. Never without a horse or a cock between her legs, or both, from what I heard. And apples don't fall far from trees. Ain't that right Zollo?'
Zollo growled in agreement. 'Jus' like 'er mother.'
Jaime raised an eyebrow. 'I didn't realise our mothers so wholly determined our character. I am sorry I never met either of your mothers. They must have been pleasant women. Regardless, there's no reason to hurt this girl.'
'But there is. 'Cos here you are.' Locke, obviously tiring of Jaime's delaying tactics, got a firmer grip on the girl's hair and nodded at Zollo. Zollo raised his blade and stepped towards Jaime. The Dothraki's bare shoulder bulged from his sleeveless vest, muscles rippling under his coppery skin.
'That's right. Here I am.' Jaime agreed, and his eyes flashed. He spun his sword in one hand restlessly. 'So let the girl go, and come and get me.'
Locke clicked his tongue, pressed the knife deeper. Fresh blood leaked down the girl's cheek, pain slithered all up and down her nerves. 'Yer a slow learner, Kingslayer. I told you already to put the sword down.'
Jaime smirked at the ridiculousness of that suggestion.
Locke was fast losing patience. 'You fancy yerself against us. Sure you do. Cut Zollo down easy, few others. But how long you think it would take me to pop this girl's eyeball out like a grape? How many other body parts you figure I could chop off her, while yer busy with my men? Shall we try it 'n see?' Locke angled the knife further into the girl's eye socket. It felt like flames licking up her face.
Jaime's gaze looked behind them again, up onto the ridge. He shook his head. 'The girl is on your side. She didn't even know who I was.'
'That right?' Locke addressed the girl, easing the pressure on the blade a fraction.
She nodded, her face burning.
'Yer didn't know he were Jaime Lannister?' Locke laughed. 'That is amusin'. And now that you know, you feel all bad 'bout betraying the North, is that it, girl?'
The girl managed to gasp out, 'I don't care about... about the North. His nephew killed my brother.'
'His nephew?' Locke snorted. 'The japes just keeps comin'. I don't believe the Kingslayer's got no nephews, girl. Rumour has it he 'as a son though, who loves a bit of killing. Joffrey, his name is. Heard of 'im?'
The girl couldn't reply. It felt like the knife scraped against her skull.
Jaime's voice was serious. 'Let the girl go, or I'll kill all of you.'
'No, Kingslayer, I don't think you will. I think what you'll do is put yer sword down, and let Zollo here tie yer hands up. Then an' only then, I'll let this whore go free, to run off and fuck as many other men who's names she don't know as she likes.'
There was a strained silence, where none of the men moved, but the air was thick with tension.
It's going to be now, I'm going to lose my eye, the girl knew, and even though part of her wanted it to be over, the pressure of the knife hurting so much she couldn't stand it any longer; even so, she felt terrified. She started to whimper.
Jaime's eyes narrowed and focused on something behind the men, then he gave a small but definite nod. Before any of the men could react to this, he suddenly lunged forward and swung his sword, striking Zollo's arakh out of his hands. The men converged on him but the girl couldn't see what happened next, because a sharp, hot blaze flared in her eye, blinding her. Almost as quickly, the cold steel was gone and she fell over onto her side.
Her vision clouded, cleared to a blurry haze. She was lying in the dirt. Through a reddish mist she could see Locke getting lifted off his feet by a tall Knight in silver armour, bigger than Jaime. This sight was so improbable that the girl thought she must have passed out again and be hallucinating. In this miraculous vision, Locke's figure was hefted up and hurled onto the ground like a ragdoll, while the Knight simultaneously blocked and slashed with his massive sword, fending off Locke's men on all sides.
The girl lay there, hands still tied, blinking away blood as it ran relentlessly into her good eye. Her stomach heaved and she retched. The world rolled and went black, then after an indeterminate time her sight returned and settled into an out-of-focus, two-dimensional view.
Most of Locke's men appeared to have fled, because the sound of fighting had quieted, and in its place there were different voices, talking. The girl could hear Jaime say, 'I knew we'd make a good team, wench,' before his footsteps crunched over to where Locke lay winded in the dirt. The girl saw that the tall Knight was there as well, holding a sword to the Northman's throat.
She watched as Jaime's legs stopped beside them, watched his boot as he raised it and trod on Locke's arm, just below the elbow, to keep it steady. The Knight and Jaime appeared to exchange a look then, although their legs didn't move. Locke's fingers clutched at the air. He said something muffled, that may have ended in 'Don't -' before Jaime interrupted him.
'The next time you want to remove someone's body parts,' Jaime said, 'you'll have to use your left hand.' Then Jaime's sword flashed down and neatly sliced through Locke's right wrist, sending the hand tumbling into the dust.