Jaime and his Dothraki loshak entered the stable, its double doors thrown open to let in the daylight. Grooms were busily sweeping and carting out used horse bedding and manure and shouting bawdy insults to one another across the rows upon rows of stalls. The sound of horses nickering and occasionally squealing at each other aggressively blended with the broody plock plock murmuring of the chickens underfoot. As they stepped across the threshold a large brindled dog tore past them, chased by a much smaller reddish dog that was yipping and crying as though it were the one being chased. Both dogs disappeared up a row of stalls, though the yipping continued.

The younger Dothraki, Lavakhat, hoisted Jaime's riding gear from one of the racks and accompanied him to Ser Fluffy Tail. It was not a thing normally done by a Dothraki man, to saddle another man's horse, but the Dothrakis had come to respect Jaime, knowing that he had not only survived the loss of his sword hand but had become an accomplished sindarine qora fighter as well. Jaime's easy charm had earned their regard as well as their respect, and his choice of the tall, scarred warrior woman as his mate had their approval as well. Even though it was uncommon for a Dothraki woman to bring attention to herself in the Dothraki culture, much less to fight side by side with the men, something about Brienne seemed to fascinate the Dothrakis.

As Lavakhat strode on his bowed legs to Ser Fluffy Tail's stall the dozens of tiny bells in the long braid that hung to the middle of his back jingled. The bells were a symbol of all the men the Dothraki had killed, but to Jaime they sounded festive rather than formidable, something he was unlikely to share with the fierce warrior.

At the stall Jaime's horse widened his nostrils and snuffled at the Dothraki, but his ears remained trustfully forward. Jaime had always believed that horses were better judges of character than most people tended to be. He had sometimes amused himself picturing various kings he had known surrounded by an elite council of horses and dogs with a duty to sniff out corruption among the court. Jaime reflected that most of the kings he had known would be the first to be called out by the animals as unfit and untrustworthy. The horses would flatten their ears and bare their teeth, the dogs would bristle and growl, and a new king would be chosen only with their approval.

Ser Fluffy Tail nosed past Lavakhat and snorted a friendly hurr hurr hurr greeting to Jaime, stretching his neck over the stall to reach him. "There's my man, Reggie!" Jaime told him, rubbing his knuckles between the horse's ears. "Ready to go into town?"

"Reegie?" Lavakhat asked in his heavy Dothraki accent, indicating the horse, "not Sor Floffy Tile?" Apparently Brienne had been talking to Jaime's guards again.

"Sor - Ser Fluffy Tail, yes." Jaime nodded. It was too much trouble to explain the two different names since he could only speak a few Dothraki words and phrases, and none at all that involved cute names for horses. Besides, the respect of his guards and his need of their aid tonight might be compromised if he had to pantomime the meaning of "fluffy," or explain that his woman had purposely told them the horse's silly name just to embarrass him. Brienne was more conversant in Dothraki than Jaime, and seemed to become more so by the day.

"Floffy, jadat Floffy," Lavakhat crooned to the horse, releasing him from the stall and hooking a rope to his bridle. He tied him to a railing and began to saddle him.

Jaime took a moment to rub Sean between the ears as well. "Do you miss your girl?" he asked the horse, giving him a scritch at the curve of his cheekbone. "I promise we'll all go for a ride soon. What's that? You want me to bring you some apples sometime? And bring Brienne, too?" The Dothraki glanced at Jaime in amusement, probably thinking it would be hard for him to eat either of these horses if he had to. Jaime gave the horse a final pat and worked on strapping on his golden hand, which, despite Brienne's dislike of it, was useful for things like mounting and riding a horse.

Lavakhat handed Ser Fluffy's reins to Jaime and he swung up on the horse easily, glad to be in the saddle again. Lavakhat led the way out of the stable where Hemikh was waiting with the Dothraki mounts, which were both smaller than Jaime's horse. The Dothraki horses rippled with clean muscle and grace, and Jaime knew they were valued for their speed and stamina, both useful traits to the nomadic warriors. These were two of the horses Daenerys had brought over the sea with her, intending to breed them with the larger destriers that were more common to Westeros.

As they rode into the courtyard Jaime twisted in his saddle hoping to catch a glimpse of Brienne, but was disappointed to see only the new trainees awaiting their turn at practice with Ser Barristan on the training field. He thought he saw Cersei among them, a shorter, bustier figure, but he wasn't interested enough to stop scanning for Brienne's tall form. Not finding her he faced forward, Ser Fluffy's reins resting lightly in his left and golden hand, and followed the Dothraki out the gate.

Once he and his loshak left the yards of the Keep they allowed their mounts to go at their own pace. Ser Fluffy Tail pulled into the lead, stretching his long dark legs, his white sock flashing out as he cantered down Aegon's Hill into the sprawling city of King's Landing. The stink of the city rose to meet them, and Jaime was nearly overwhelmed by the memories they evoked in him, stretching back over more than half his lifetime ago.

The brightest memory was of himself at fifteen, already an accomplished swordsman, and freshly sworn into Aerys' Kingsguard. His white cloak had been new and unsoiled, and in his pride he had felt the same of himself. It seemed like several lifetimes ago when that shining youth had ridden into King's Landing, full of promise and set upon honor and glory. How quickly had the honor of being one of Aerys' chosen seven darkened and become a hateful thing? It seemed a blink of time between the fond memories and the rueful, his ideals sullied long before he had betrayed his king and earned the name of Kingslayer. Even now, when his reasons for killing the Mad King were known, he was still considered, in King's Landing at least, a man with shit for honor. The good he had done then and since was nothing compared to the satisfaction people would continue to take in slandering a disgraced knight.

The Kingsguard had been disbanded while Jaime had been with Brienne rescuing Sansa Stark. Tommen's Hand, Mace Tyrell, had ordered the Kingsguard replaced by a larger but less elite group of knights to be known as the Kingsmen. The Kingsguard had become a sorry enough group of men by the time Brienne had found Jaime in the Riverlands, but after Ser Robert Strong had been elevated to the white cloak it was truly a farce. Jaime had felt guilty about not having been there to fight for the Kingsguard's continuance, but he knew he could have done nothing to stop its disbanding. Restoring the Kingsguard to its former glory had become just another tarnished vow that Jaime had been unable to keep. Seen in a more positive light, the demise of the Kingsguard and its vows had freed Jaime up to join the battle against the Others in the north and to stay at Brienne's side. He had never had a taste for politics and being a part of the effort to protect the realm suited him.

The three men rode along the easternmost road through King's Landing, headed past the Fishmonger's Square to the Street of Steel, where Tobho Mott's armory held the place of honor at the top of the street. They would be closer to the Great Sept of Baelor than Jaime would have liked. It seemed to him that the nearer he got to the sept the more the memory of his father's decaying body assaulted his senses. The remembered smell of his lord father's rotting flesh and the inescapable mental image of his smirking corpse always brought him back to those dark days. Lord Tywin Lannister had been gone for years and the Tower of the Hand with him, but even in death he cast his long shadow over Keep and city.

The day was cold and snow flurries eddied around them like gnats. Soot and waste had blackened the snow on the sides of the road, and the smallfolk in the street cringed back from the foreign strangeness of the mounted Dothrakis. It felt good to Jaime to be out on his horse with the wind whipping in his hair and making his cloak billow out over Ser Fluffy's back. He drew in a deep breath, and even though it had the stink of King's Landing in it, the way the cold air filled his lungs was satisfying. Today felt much like freedom to him despite the tunic with the silver dragon and his guards. Ser Fluffy Tail strutted like the knight he was, neck arched and black mane and tail flying in the wind. All the day lacked was Brienne and Sean by their side.

"The Street of Steel is just up ahead here," he called back to his guards, "up at the top is Mott's forge." Jaime slowed his horse and navigated up the row of blacksmiths. Mott's armory was at the very top and loomed out over the other shops like a mounted lord observing peasants; benign but obviously better than the others. Jaime had done a lot of business with Tobho Mott over the years, purchasing armor and weapons and even drinking a cup of ale with the man from time to time. Mott was the best smith in King's Landing if you had the coin to pay. Jaime may have been stripped of his lands, but his fortune was too varied and his connections to wide to make him poor, so he was able to continue to patronize the finest merchants.

Mott had made Jaime's gold hand, and designed the complicated series of straps and buckles that held it on and made it useful for more than decoration, as well as making them easy enough to fasten using only his left hand. The hand had to be a part of Jaime in a way that allowed him to use the remaining strength in his right arm to obey his commands, whether using it for leverage, balance or for knocking out teeth. Lacking fingers and a thumb anything he wore on his stump would not give him dexterity, but Jaime had begun to think maybe he still might have some use for his right arm even without the hand.

As they entered the yard to Tobho Mott's place they could see him working at his forge. Mott had about ten years on Jaime, but looked even older at first with his greying ginger beard and the soot of his trade sunk into the lines on his face, though no one could ever take him for frail or old with his muscles bulging from years at the forge. Even in the cold he wore no more than leather trews and apron, and his thatch of faded red hair stood up in the rising heat from the forge like a little flame. Tobho looked up and saw Jaime and the Dothrakis and called out a welcome, settling the sword he had been working on in a barrel of water to cool. Jaime swung off his horse and the two embraced. The blacksmith held Jaime by the shoulders at arm's length, looking him up and down. A wide grin split his craggy face. "Ah, boy-o, look at you! I never thought to see that pretty head of yours again!"

"As you see, it is right where it was last time." Jaime told him, returning the smile, "I was afraid I was going to have to pay you for a golden head to go with the hand."

"Aye, I thought that too," said Mott, "but with your swelled head can you imagine what I would have had to charge!" They both laughed.

"Mott, I'd like you to meet my Dothraki loshak, they guard me day and night to keep me from running back to fight in the north before my time." Jaime gestured to the men behind him, who were just dismounting. Hemikh came forward first and he and Mott clasped forearms. Hemikh was of an age with Mott, and their shoulders and arms were similarly muscled. Unlike Lavakhat, Hemikh's braid only hung to his shoulder blades and had far fewer bells. Someone must have taken his braid in a fight a few years ago; it could be why the proud warrior was assigned as Jaime's guard, though he didn't seem to mind. Lavakhat came forward as well, clasping Mott's forearm in turn and holding the reins of the three horses in his other hand.

"Stable's around the side there," Mott told him, waving toward a tall building, "You can give them to young Toby and he'll see they're taken care of."

Lavakhat took the horses and Jaime turned back to Mott. "Do you remember you asked what kind of weapon took my hand off?" he asked the smith.

"I do, it was some Dothraki piece of steel, wasn't it?" Mott raised his bushy eyebrows at Jaime and then flicked his eyes to Hemikh.

"An arakh, yes." Jaime said, "Hemikh, would you show yours to my friend here?" Hemikh drew the curved sword and held it hilt-out to Mott, who made a low whistle as he took it and held it up to look it over.

"Not elegant, no," he pronounced, "and not a blade I would think of for chopping." He saw Jaime wince and muttered "Sorry," around a grim smile. "Still, I can see how this would be very useful from horseback. The curve of the blade would give it some extra momentum to deepen the cut. More of a slicing weapon than a hacking one, I think." Mott held the arakh up, gesturing toward the little lawn just in front of the shop and asked the Dothraki, "Do you mind?"

At Hemikh's nod he stepped out holding the blade and swung it in a combination of moves, head, head, side slash down the torso, hip, head, stepping light on his feet as though he battled an imaginary foe. "Yes," he said, "yes, I see." He handed the blade back to Hemikh, nodding in approval. Lavakhat had returned to see his dance as well, and seemed amused at this Westerosi man wielding the arakh. Tobho Mott had spent some time in Braavos training with a master there and studying their armorers. Handling weapons was part of his trade and he was good at it. He was also the man who had re-forged Ned Stark's Valyrian sword Ice into two smaller swords; one of those was Brienne's blade, Oathkeeper. Men who could re-forge Valyrian steel were even more rare than the blades themselves.

Jaime had watched the display with the arakh as though it did not bother him at all. He was pleased that no one could detect how he quailed inside to see that blade sweeping down, and he felt the phantom fingers of his missing right hand clench in agony. He hoped he would not suffer nightmares in the night because of today's display. Overcoming your fear was important, he felt, but his bravado in purposely calling attention to the weapon that had maimed him left him feeling a little foolish.

The Dothraki were gazing curiously around the forge, and Mott gestured to the armor and weapons arrayed on and hanging from every surface, "Go ahead, look around." He told them, and they both looked as though they were young boys set free in a toymaker's shop. It didn't take long for them to find Mott's Wall of Daggers and they fell to exclaiming over them to each other in the Dothraki tongue.

While the men were busy Jaime asked Mott, "You got the drawings I sent? Were you able to decipher them?"

"Aye, but it took some doing. They looked like something my six year old would draw, so finally I asked him to explain them to me." Mott gave a great guffaw at that, but it was only the truth. He found the crumpled parchments on a table and smoothed them out so that he and Jaime could discuss them. While they were discussing the drawings Tobho's wife came across the yard holding a baby in one arm and brushing chicken feed off her apron with the other.

"Moira!" Mott called out to her, waving her over. "You've not met my youngest yet, Ser." He said to Jaime, "A daughter, at last!"

Moira gave Jaime a shy, proud smile as she stopped to stand in front of Jaime and her husband. Jaime knew the couple had a veritable herd of boys, so he was happy to know they had gotten the hoped-for girl.

"Here," Moira said, placing the baby in Jaime's arms before her could stop her. "There now, Merry, see the handsome knight?" The babe fussed a moment in Jaime's arms and then settled and stared up at him with her round blue eyes. Moira took Jaime's right arm and positioned his gold hand to support the baby a little better. Jaime had never held a baby before and was surprised at the feel of it; he had assumed it would be as soft, yet it was more solid-feeling, and the movement of the thing as it shifted itself within its little blanket and then lifted its little arms up at him was unexpected. He thought briefly of his own children and how he had never been allowed to hold any of them; he had thought the familiar ache of it was long behind him, but the loss was still with him. He gave it his left forefinger to hold and was given a tiny, toothless smile in return. He looked at the chubby little fist holding onto his finger, surprised by the strength of its grasp. He tried to pull his hand away so that he could move his left hand to support the baby a little better, but the thing was having none of it.

"Och, did I not tell you the girl would have the men wrapped around her little finger?" said Mott proudly, "What do you think of our bonny Merry Pie, Ser Jaime?"

"It's, um, it's really cute." Jaime said, clearly out of his depth.

"She is really cute," corrected the child's mother, deftly unwinding the girl's tiny fist from Jaime's finger and positioning his hand to better support Merry's back. "Here now," she cooed, "Hold her closer to you. She don't bite." Moira gently pushed Jaime's arms with the baby closer to his chest. Are all babies this warm? Merry reached out again, and not finding a finger she closed her hand around a lock of Jaime's hair and pulled on it. There was nothing for it but to do what the child wanted and let her pull his head down. Moira and Mott laughed to see the great Kingslayer being so easily controlled. He tried to look up through his hair at the proud parents as Merry reached out and grabbed his beard with her other hand.

"There now," laughed the blacksmith, "she likes you I think."

"Mm" said Jaime, and shifted the girl higher onto his chest so he could lift his head while she held onto his hair.

"I hear you have some giantess of woman who fights beside you and shares your bed," Mott winked at Jaime, "when are yougoing to marry her and get yourself some brats to have around underfoot?"

"Maybe someday," Jaime said lightly, "if she'll have me."

"From what I hear, she's already had you," said Mott with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.

"Toby!" chided Moira, smacking him on his arm, but smiling up at Jaime.

"Now that there's no Kingsguard…" began Mott.

"I swear you're worse than a fishwife," said Moira, relieving Jaime of the baby. "Let the poor man alone. You're making him blush." She cuddled Merry to her chest and with a dip of her head left them to return to the warmth of the house.

Jaime could feel himself blushing a little, something he wasn't accustomed to. Thankfully Mott dropped the subject and they went back to the drawings. The blacksmith took more measurements of Jaime's right arm and noted them on fresh parchment, along with drawing more sketches as he and Jaime talked.

"I'll do what I can before you have to leave for the north," he told Jaime, "but they might not be as pretty as you're used to."

Jaime laughed. "My vanity isn't what it once was, Toby," he said, "whatever you can do is appreciated."

"I do have something for you though," Mott said, as he rolled up the parchment. He stepped into an alcove of the shop and brought out an oblong object wrapped in coarse cloth. He handed it to Jaime and stepped back with hands on hips, "Open it!" he told Jaime impatiently.

Jaime rested the gift in his metal hand while he unwound the cloth with his left, a low whistle escaping his lips. "Is this…?" He looked up at Mott with an almost feral grin, his eyes alight. Mott was nodding, pleased with Jaime's reaction. In his hands he held a short sword with an iron cap to fit over his stump and a clever series of straps to attach it to his arm and over his shoulder. Mott reached out and lifted it from Jaime's hands.

"Take off your hand and we'll see how it fits." He said, grinning so widely that his own eyes were almost hidden in the sooty wrinkles around them.

Jaime's heart was thundering in his ribs, and he could barely get the hand off for his excitement to try on the new weapon. Mott handed Jaime the sword and he rested its point on the ground, placing his booted feet on either side of it to hold it in place. He placed his stump in the padded cap and looped the longer of the leather straps over his shoulder and secured the series of small buckles along his arm, Mott commenting along the way about the best way to strap things, but not stepping in to help; he knew that Jaime needed to be able to do this for himself.

When he was done Jaime stepped back and raised the blade, admiring it. He rotated his forearm and wrist side to side enjoying the feel of it, the balance, the promise of power. Then he saw something else in the blade and stopped to look at it. "is that Dragonglass?" he asked, looking up at Mott in astonishment. There imbedded in the blade was a darker, shinier object in the same shape as the sword it graced.

"Aye," said Mott, if possible looking even more pleased. Jaime stepped back several paces and began to swing the blade, picking up momentum as he went. Faster and stronger the strokes flew, cutting swaths through the blowing snow, the blade seeming to sing as it rent the cold air. The Dothrakis were drawn by the movement and stood at the mouth of the shop watching Ser Jaime, who even to them looked like a hero out of legend.

Just wait until I show Brienne, thought Jaime, and just then he wished more than anything that she were there to see and celebrate this new discovery with him. She may not like my golden hand, he mused, but she's going to love this.

While Jaime and Mott had been discussing plans and trying out the new short sword the snow had become thicker and the wind more persistent. Jaime re-wrapped his new weapon and strapped his hand back on. Lavakhat purchased long dagger and Hemikh a bronzed vambrace from Mott.

"Did you get the other packet I sent?" Jaime asked Mott when they were all but ready to go.

"The gemstones and your wretched drawing? I did. I sent them on to Bakon the Silversmith for you; he's the best in King's Landing. Says he'll make sure you have what you need before you march."

Jaime thanked his friend and he and his guards mounted their horses and rode back down the Street of Steel in the gathering storm. The torches started to light up here and there as merchants set up for a few more hours' trade. Jaime let the way to the Street of Bread, where he had planned to purchase some food that was neither pigs' feet or fish. While he was there he was also able to buy some carrots for the horses that were only a little withered. As he was paying for his parcels he noticed a few roses in a cup by the proprietor's bench. Jaime had heard that the few hothouses that might have grown flowers in the city had been given over to growing foodstuff for the winter. He curiously picked a rose out of the cup and saw that it was not a real rose at all. He turned it curiously in his fingers and saw that it was finely sculpted to look like a budding rose out of very soft leather dyed a rich red with a long green stem. He bought it for Brienne and tucked it away with his other goods. He was betting that Hyle had never given her a rose.

With his business in King's Landing concluded they all rode as quickly as they could back to the Red Keep. They were on Aegon's Hill when a lightning bolt shattered the sky and the thunder that cracked with it sent the three startled horses skittering on the slippery snow before they regained their footing and raced for the stables, where grooms were waiting to take the horses inside. Jaime hesitated, feeling guilty for not seeing Ser Fluffy Tail settled in, but he had spotted Brienne standing under an awning out of the snow, talking and laughing with about ten men out near the training grounds. He quickly took off his golden hand and put the suede vambrace Brienne had given him about a year ago over his stump before going out to join her.

Feeling foolishly possessive he strode out into the storm with his guards behind him, walking directly to Brienne and taking his place by her side. He put his hand on her lower back and was glad she didn't stiffen or jump in surprise. Brienne turned to give him a smile and he could see bright humor in her eyes. "Your sister just hit poor Ser Ector so hard in the bollocks with a torch that he was on the ground whimpering for five full minutes," she told him. How very like Cersei, he thought, and laughed out loud. Brienne put her hand on his shoulder and said into his ear "I think I know where she got the nickname 'ballbuster' from now," and Jaime laughed even harder. Jaime looked over the men that had been standing with Brienne when he arrived, and moved his hand from her back to her hand, claiming it.

"My lords," he nodded to the men and gave them a cutting smile, more dismissive than friendly. It did not pass unnoticed that all of them were closer in age to Brienne than to him. "I should get my lady in out of this storm." And before Brienne knew it he was pulling her by the hand toward Traitor's Walk, the guards following slowly behind, barely even paying attention to them.

"Jaime," she said, tugging back on his hand until he stopped walking, "You know we've fought in far worse conditions than this. Since when do I need to be rescued from a storm?"

"Actually, I was rescuing me. Brrr." He grinned at her. "And I need you to come help me shave for tonight. I could do it, but you leave fewer nicks."

"You are so lazy!" she said, trying to look annoyed but failing miserably. "What's in the packages?"

"None of your business," he told her, "for now, anyway. I'll show you later."