A/N - All I can do is apologise in advance, really.
Oh Lazarus, How did your debts get paid?
Oh Lazarus, were you so afraid? - Blood On My Name, The Brothers Bright
"Some protector you are." Jaime complained, if only to ensure that Bryn was still alive; the Mummers had not treated them gently, and Jaime was less than willing to be tied to a corpse as they rode through the Riverlands. The rope with which they were bound cut into her arms, and with every step the horse took on the uneven ground, it was all Jaime could do to keep them both seated. When they had been tied together on its back, Bryn's face had been swollen and smeared with blood; even if he was alive, Jaime though the chances of his being able to speak were slim.
"We never would have been taken if you hadn't decided you wanted to fight." Bryn's voice was weak, and thick with the effort of moving his jaw, but indignant as ever.
"And for that small indiscretion I deserve to be killed, do I?" I should have left it; perhaps a corpse would have been preferable after all.
"You're a prisoner of value; they won't kill you." Jaime wondered if his stupidity was a blessing or a curse. She might have liked to be unaware of the inevitable.
"Oh, they won't intend to, but they do intend to rape me. I am less than keen on the idea, so death it will be." It didn't matter that his back was against hers, she could see the look of shocked confusion on his face that she had been so used to provoking. He is so naïve.
"They won't kill you." He insisted. If sheer pig-headedness could make it so, Jaime would have been glad of his conviction, but as it was it would do her no good.
"I will make them." She couldn't see Bryn's face, but Jaime knew he didn't believe her. I will not have my body taken. Not again. She imagined that the Mummers would be less courteous about it than Robert Baratheon had been.
"You can't. You don't… You don't des-"
"Shut up. What could you do about it, anyway? You'll only get yourself killed, and I don't imagine you want to die defending me." Whatever else he was, Bryn was noble to fault, and there was no point in him dying alongside her. Perhaps it would be better; they might kill him quickly, that way.
She felt Bryn tense against her. He had been ready to kill her only hours ago, yet when it was not him who looked like to do the deed it seemed he hadn't the stomach for it.
"So if you were a man you'd just sit back and let it happen?"
She made no reply; if I were a man I'd be Caesare.
Caesare. I will never see him again. Nor my children.
Would Caesare even want her once the Mummers were finished with her? He still wanted me when I was Robert's whore, she chastised herself, we were born together we belong together. He knows that. He knows that.
But even if he didn't, he does, she was still a mother. Joffrey certainly wouldn't want her near him; it was the thought of Myrcella and Tommen that began to chip away at her resolve. Is that what you would teach your daughter? To lie back and take what is forced on her? No. Let her know her mother died fighting.
But Tommen, Tommen was only a baby; he would not understand. All he would know is that one day his mother left without a goodbye and never came back. Would that be better than seeing her leave and some other, broken, woman return?
A cry came from the head of the group; they had found the Goat. The stench of death preceded him; burning flesh and the sweet, cloying scent of rotting drifted up the path towards them. Ahead, Jaime could see the hollow shell of what she assumed had once been a sept, since statues of the gods littered the ground outside; one, Jaime thought it was the Mother, was being straddled by a man who seemed to be prying the gemstones out of the stone.
Another shout was heard as they approached the camp, and the air seemed alight with hisses of Kingslayer. She shivered.
Hoat was sitting at the fire, fingers greedily picking at charred meat that dripped gore onto his dirty fingers. Grease and blood oozed from between his teeth and into his grizzled beard as he smiled.
"It theemth I have captured the Kingthlayer."
"Actually, it was them who captured me-" Jaime began, but then her mouth was full of blood; Hoat was quick, she would allow him that much. She spat the blood at his feet.
"You aren't in the Red Keep now, Kingthlayer." Hoat spat, "though perhapth Robert Baratheon had the right idea of what to do with you."
Jaime flinched as jeers erupted around her, and she hated herself for it. Then Hoat's hands were on her, and she could feel the scrape of his nails through the fabric of her dress, thin with wear. His breath was hot and foul and it wouldn't be coming for much longer; she was reaching for the knife at his belt…
"The rumours about her are all true, you know." Bryn's voice was oddly powerful, carrying above the roars of mocking laughter. Hoat turned to look at him properly for the first time, and the knife was out of her reach. Maester eunuch was determined, it seemed, to keep her body from dying. As long as he has something to give for Lady Stark's daughters.
"There'th a lot of rumourth about the Kingthlayer." Hoat leered; Jaime could see the slobber glistening on his lips, the glint of the knife that was just out of reach.
"About her children; they really are her brother's."
What is he playing at? Bryn's voice was shaking, but he was determined, she could see it in the set of his jaw. What she could not see was just how this little chat was serving anyone.
"All the better. Thaesare Lannithter alwayth wath a cunt; how thweet it will be to fuck hith whore." Jaime wondered if she was about to be sick. No point, it probably wouldn't put them off.
"You'll die if you do." Jaime wondered if it was actually the maester who had a death wish, though Hoat seemed to find it more amusing than enraging, because he laughed so hard that the slack skin of his face wobbled.
"You'll kill me, will you? With what weapon?"
"Oh, I won't kill you; she will." What is he doing? "She killed King Robert, without a doubt. I am surprised that, for all of your travels, none of you have come across the Demon's Cut."
Jaime could still hear the tremor in his voice, the slight hesitation that gave away his lie, but it seemed she was the only one. Her heart hammered desperately against her ribcage as the Mummers frowned at Bryn, who continued,
"I suppose there are so few who commit such atrocities that it is not a widely known affliction. It occurs as the result of intercourse with a woman who has committed incest; they put about that Robert was gorged by a boar, but any maester of the Citadel could tell you it was the Demon's Cut. It begins as a small scratch, anywhere on your body, but most likely on your torso. Soon it begins to grow until the wound is open and festering, deepening little by little until the sufferer dies in agony. It is not a fate I would wish on anyone, and I'd certainly not take the risk."
Hoat dropped Jaime's face as though it would burn him. Is he really so stupid? It seemed he was, because he was looking at her with disgust written clear on his features. She almost dared to let out the breath that burned in her chest, but then the noseless Mummer spoke,
"Fuck her mouth then; nothing dangerous in there."
Jaime laughed mirthlessly.
"Nothing but my teeth. I cut the Mad King's throat; what makes you think I couldn't leave you to bleed out through the hole where your pitiful cock once was."
He snarled, baring half rotted brown teeth, the hole in his face wrinkling and seeming to deepen, before Hoat pushed him back.
"No-one toucheth her!" He screamed. The Mummers looked mutinous, but Hoat seemed unfazed. He turned back to Jaime, his fat, wet lips stretching into a predatory smile.
"Still, it would be a shame to send you back to your Father without a little message from us." Then her hands were on her again, and he tugged.
She heard her bodice rip, felt the cold bite of the night air on her chest, but she did not cover herself. She could not help shivering, feeling her nipples harden and keeping her eyes staring blankly forwards; she could hear the Mummers jeering, and she froze as Hoat ran the blade of his dirk gently down her chest. Her heart beat frantically against the tip of the blade; she felt for a second that it only had to thump a little harder and she would impale herself on its sharpness, but it was only wishful thinking.
The fat Dothraki waddled forward, a look of glee on his face as his dark piggy eyes roamed hungrily over her exposed flesh. I am a lioness. I will not cringe for them. Whatever they expected of a woman, she would not give them; they would have no tears, no pleas, no screaming, only her silence. She felt a dirty hand scrape along her scalp and tug at her hair, forcing her head back and her chest forward.
For a second, the edge of the Dothraki's weapon came to rest lightly on the top of her breast before he raised it high. Sunlight ran silver along the edge of the arakh as it came shivering down, almost too fast to see. And Jaime screamed.