Author's Notes:And we officially have less than ten chapters to go before the end. This all has just become surreal. It's hard to believe after all these years that I'm finally hear at the end. But don't you fret, dear readers, because I've made sure this story has ended with a bang. Thank you all so much for reading this story and being such loyal supporters. You are the wind beneath my wings!

A special thank you to Catzrko0l for being such a wonderful beta reader. You've also been so instrumental in drawing this story to a close. Thanks so much for your work and your words of encouragement.

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Chapter 150

Jaime LVIII

He felt a sharp pain in his head and an overwhelming feeling of nausea from what felt like a seizure sweep over him. He pinched his face and groaned, turning over in his bed. When he tried to open his eyes, a blare of daylight assaulted him. He tried to bring a hand up to shield them, but his other hand came with it. Instantly, he was awake and peered down at his hands and found them bound together with a fraying rope that dug painfully into his skin. He bucked and found his ankles had also been tied.

"Stop moving," David snapped at him.

He turned and locked eyes on the healer, his anger curdling in his stomach as his memories rushed back to him. David had taken him hostage. He was in a stretcher being carried by two men, who steadfastly kept their eyes ahead.

"You treacherous son of a bitch," Jaime snarled, his muffled voice a blinding red. "Pray you're far away when I get free, because I will hunt you into the Dothraki Sea if I have to."

"I'm sure you will, my lord," David said, his voice a thread of mocking green. He poured a mixture of something on a towel, then with one hand holding Jaime's chest in place he used the other to place the towel on Jaime's face. Jaime fought, attempting to fling the towel off, but David held it in place. He recognized the sharply pungent smell of the stuff he used to knock out Ser Loras and Brienne. He tried to resist, but he felt his eyes growing heavy once more and all was quiet.

He woke up some time in the night. His headache had hardly lessened and, if anything, had grown worse. He would have another seizure if he hadn't had one already while unconscious. He glanced around to find himself crammed between two bodies. When he twisted around, he locked eyes with Ser Barristan who was nestled up behind him.

"Are you bound?" Jaime whispered.

"Yes," Barristan replied sullenly.

"Can you loosen your knots?"

"No."

Jaime cursed under his breath, then strained to look around, noticing at least four guards at the entrance. The tent flap was wide open and he could see two more men positioned to peer inside.

"Have you been bound this whole time?"

"Only my hands up to now. They bound my feet when we bedded down for the evening."

"Any news?" Jaime whispered.

"Only King Aemon and Rhaegal got away. A hundred men dead, three hundred wounded. The rest as prisoners. Lady Arya Dayne, Lord Dayne, Ser Addam, Olyvar, you, and myself are now his prisoners. Ghost got away too."

Jaime breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't even remembered the direwolf being on hand given that wolf preferred solitude away from the fearful horses. But most importantly, the dragon was alive and so was Aemon, but that led to some confusion. If David was a traitor, why did he allow Aemon to escape? It seemed he was cut from the same cloth as the likes of Baelish and Varys. David clearly brokered a deal for Jaime, but not Aemon. Why? Surely the Blackfyre would've preferred the king by far. Was David trying to piecemeal his rewards from the Blackfyre? That sounded like a dangerous game, but David was not unfamiliar with those terms.

Played a far longer game than I'd give him credit for, Jaime thought, gritting his teeth.

"Has David had anything to say about this?" Jaime muttered.

"Not within earshot. Once they took our weapons and began binding us, he sewed up the knife wound he gave you and insisted you couldn't be gagged or you would die," Barristan said.

Likely looking for a ransom, he thought, or they wish me to pledge my loyalty for my freedom. I'd sooner eat rocks.

"What are you thinking?" Jaime whispered.

"I'm trying to understand how his treachery escaped notice. We should've seen a sign—any sign!—but he acted as he ever has," Barristan replied. Though Jaime wasn't looking at him, he could hear the confusion in Barristan's voice. "He played me for a fool."

"And me." A coldness swept Jaime as he realized that Aemon almost certainly trusted David more than he ever had. Was his next step to seek out the king to orchestrate his imprisonment? The last thing Aemon would remember is David helping him to get away. He also knows where the prince and princess are, Jaime realized. Thank the Gods Aemon and Queen Daenerys had the foresight to put them in the Eyrie. They'd be safe there, for the time being.

"We have to escape," Jaime hissed. "Our king needs us to warn him of that viper."

"That will be difficult without outside help."

"We have to think of something and soon," Jaime said, casting his thoughts back to all those long months spent in the heart of Robb Stark's camp, and then imprisoned in Riverrun's dungeons. There had been attempts to free him and none of them had succeeded. Robb had only been a boy with a lesser army. This was a Blackfyre, with near equal their strength in men. But perhaps this would make him cautious. He couldn't very well leave wherever he took them undefended.

"Do you know where he's taking us?"

"Honeyholt," Barristan replied, "for now."

Jaime frowned. The next stop after that is bound to be Hightower, he thought with some dread. The tower was in the middle of a lake. He could only imagine the sickening dampness of those dungeon walls. Unlikely to be breached either. Even a small boat would be easily seen from afar. Their best chance of freedom was to spring from Honeyholt.

"We wait then, but we need to escape before we're moved to Hightower," Jaime said.

"They're not fools, Jaime. They'll expect an escape," Barristan answered.

"Resigned to your fate, are we?"

"Of course not," Barristan growled. "I intend not to be a fool again."

Jaime remained awake for most of the night, but was woken up with a vigorous shake. Jaime growled and resisted, pulling away and receiving a boot in the gut for his trouble. He doubled over and vomited, the pain in his head reaching a fevered pitch.

"Careful! The Blackfyre needs him alive," David snapped.

The Essosi soldier snapped back at him in a strange tongue and David answered just as vociferously. What he said appeared to shake the man and he stepped back from Jaime, eyeing him warily. David ended up stepping in and throwing him back on the stretcher.

"Untie my boots and I can walk with the rest of them," Jaime snarled.

"Not with those stitches in your thigh you won't," David said, unfazed by the hostility he was greeted with. "Now behave and I won't douse you again with my concoction."

For once, Jaime decided to wait and he studied David from his place on the stretcher. Not even Baelish had been able to hide his intentions, but David's voice merely ranged from an irritated orange to a calm blue. He hadn't even so much as seen a whiff of the purple that betrayed Baelish's lies. Varys had similarly had purple in his voice at times, but the game with him was knowing what he was lying about precisely. He hadn't even been there to see Varys after Aemon had married Queen Daenerys.

Given what the healer had gone through, the men he'd lost, all the gains he'd made since arriving in Westeros, it was incredible that he'd throw it all away. For a commoner, he'd risen to master of whisperers and had become a wealthy man in his own right, wanting for nothing. The Lannister coffers had long since ceased being the healer's patron. If he had been short on dragons, he only needed to reach out and Jaime would've reestablished it once more.

Jaime put it to the back of his mind and focused on looking for an opening. Ser Barristan, Olyvar, Lord Edric Dayne, Lady Arya Dayne, and Addam trooped behind them with similarly sullen and antsy expressions. He caught Addam's eyes and earned a tiny shake of the head. Without knowing the color of his speech, Jaime had difficulty deciphering if Addam had given up, was simply biding his time, or was dismayed about the circumstances.

Instead of contemplating it, he turned his attention to looking for an escape. The mountains had fallen away and he could no longer see solid granite walls keeping them confined. But first, the gravel paths they were going down were treacherous. One of the men carrying his stretcher slipped and turned it over, spilling him out onto the ground. He tucked himself in and allowed himself to roll away. If luck—or the Gods—were on his side, he'd roll into a ravine and out of their reach.

However, the Gods seemed to be displeased and he felt his progress halted when he slammed into a rock that knocked the breath from him. He still attempted to squirm away, but a soldier caught him and booted him in the face. His nose cracked and blood began to gush down his face.

"Stop injuring my prize," David snapped. He then said something in the Essosi language before he bent down and righted him once more. He writhed away from David like a fish on a line, but somehow David was able to stand fast and throw him back on the stretcher.

Jaime was awake and patient this time when they broke camp once more. Two soldiers apiece accompanied each of them for a piss and they were given nominal amounts of stew for eating. Though Jaime's stomach was tied into knots, he savored the stew to keep up his strength. While eating, he strained to see the camp and get a feel for his surroundings. As knights and lords, they were kept among the leadership, though they were still governed only by mere soldiers. He saw a large pavilion set close by, which was bound to be the Blackfyre's tent. David was sitting at a fire with soldiers in fine armor, suggesting they were captains just below leadership. At one point, in his surveying of the camp, he caught eyes with David, who was smirking knowingly. Jaime scowled at him. However, much to his surprise, David did not alert them to Jaime's intentions.

I have one chance, Jaime thought. But even as he sought an opening he might slip through and disappear into the night, he found soldiers walking the perimeters. He was beginning to pray that perhaps Ser Garlan had managed to cross the Honeywine and would invade the camp, cutting the Blackfyre's campaign short and rescuing them. But as the hours ticked by, he only heard the soft whirring of crickets in the grass.

"I've not seen any chances," Ser Barristan whispered, his voice an urgent orange.

"Me either," Addam added. Now that Jaime was awake, his companions had keyed into his restlessness and laid awake with him.

"Do you think he's really a traitor?" Olyvar whispered so quietly that Jaime almost didn't hear him.

"What makes you think he's not?" Jaime growled.

"He still acts the same: kindly, concerned. He helped the king."

"That means nothing. He is a traitor. If I have my way, he will hang as one. I'll see to it."

"It doesn't seem like him," Olyvar rebutted. "He's a bit odd, but he's always been fair. What's fair about this?"

"He's bought and paid for. As Varys was, as Baelish was. Were the position not so important, I'd convince Aemon that he should scourge master of whisperers from the small council. It brings naught but ill."

"Perhaps you're right," Barristan said. "We now have to suspect that everything David ever told us was a lie."

"I don't know if even I'd go that far." Jaime frowned, but now he did wonder. Was everything he said about the Blackfyre a falsehood? He was certain David had accurate information about the Blackfyre's whereabouts for the last five years. Sharing that with them when they were not keen to invade Essos for him was hardly harmful. He had put in real effort attempting to rediscover the Valyrian steel recipe. Despite that he and Tohbo Mott hadn't succeeded, they'd found something new. Jaime had done practice bouts with Daybreak and marveled at the lightness of the steel. When he'd examined it after training, he found the blade still unblemished. He'd been itching to test it in battle and now he was beginning to wonder if he'd ever get the chance. Still, there had to be things that David had hidden from them in plain sight.

Jaime shook his head. There was little sense in puzzling over his letters with David for the last five years. He had no means of reaching out to Aemon to warn him; they could easily spend all of the Long Night locked in Hightower, something Jaime dreaded. He'd be damned if he wasn't given the opportunity to slay some wights after the wrongs they had done to him.

In the silence that had befallen them, Jaime heard the telltale snores of a few of his companions. Jaime drew his mouth into a thin line of disapproval, but he slowly acknowledged there was little point in staying awake with no opportunities to escape. He'd barely slept the night before and felt his exhaustion dragging at him. If he dared to stay awake again, he was bound to contend with another seizure. It was hardly conducive to planning his escape either.

On the second day, Jaime refused the stretcher. David had glared at him, but didn't force the issue. However, instead of walking ahead of them as he'd done the whole rest of the time, he took a position out of sight. Jaime got the sense that David knew he was apt to take the opportunity to throttle him and the Blackfyre was unlikely to intervene. Such were the treacherous waters he now swam. Jaime at least found the thought darkly satisfying.

He surreptitiously glanced around, but without the mountain walls, two rows of soldiers hemmed them in from both sides. These weren't a hodge podge of stable boys, farm hands, and miscreants, but mercenaries. Their very pay depended on them being alert and unbendable. Jaime considered for a moment trying to offer them gold, but he had no leverage without his soldiers to back him.

Jaime felt his spirits darken when he caught sight of Honeyholt barely an hour into their journey. It wouldn't take more than half a day to reach and the Blackfyre was being careful not to leave little more than a mousehole for them to escape. He thought about making a final attempt anyway, but the moment they'd catch him, he was apt to be even more closely guarded. There was only one chance and he had to wait for it.

His mood soured further as he walked through the open gates of Honeyholt, glaring up at the spiked gate, hoping the mechanism would break and crash down on the Blackfyre. But the Gods appeared to have abandoned them as the Blackfyre and the rest of his army passed through unscathed.

Aemon and I have faithfully done your bidding and this is how you treat us? Jaime mused bitterly. Though he had to admit, he wasn't entirely sure what the Gods' bidding was. They had never been explicit in their demands. He and Aemon had merely assumed that they were to correct the mistakes from their previous lives and prepare for the Long Night. There was little else to go on. The Gods had granted Jaime a vision when he'd hanged himself and they'd possessed Aemon early to prove himself to the North. That had been the extent of their meddling. Was that all there was to it? Must you be so incomprehensible? Give me a sign!

Jaime winced as he heard the gate crank shut behind them. A greater part of the army milled around them, some of them splitting off to tend to duties elsewhere. He heard the unmerciful clattering ring of a few smithies working tirelessly in their forges. He noticed the castle's servants continued their work, unharried by the soldiers, but they kept their eyes to the ground. They had all the energy of broken horses. The clouded sky threatened rain and rumbled with thunder, causing many of the soldiers to glance up at it warily. Here and there, sunbeams spilled through the cloud cover, filling the sky with glaring light that made Jaime flinch.

A man with a feather-plumed helmet, dark skin, and lines on his face addressed them in a gravelly voice, heavily accented with Braavosi flavoring. "My Lords and Lady. My King, Maelyx Blackfyre, wishes you to live in comfort as befits your status. If your behavior is unbefitting of your station, you will be granted no mercy," the man declared.

Jaime curled his lip in response to the man, but he bit his tongue. Instead, he surveyed the castle, taking note of the men on the wall and in the training yard. He sought the Blackfyre as well and noted a gray steel helmet in the distance with rubies faceted to the helm. Only a fool of a lord would make himself visible in such an ostentatious manner.

"Go on, my lord," David prodded.

When Jaime glared at him. The healer seemed to be taking great pleasure in his triumph as he merely smirked at Jaime before brushing past him to make his way into the castle.

Honeyholt was a small keep by a lord paramount's standards and was apt to be bulging at the seams with the number of high status guests. Not that Jaime's mind was on the luxury of his room. It was merely a simple bed and a chamber pot. He was situated at the very top of the tower and he peered out the narrow windows to better understand his surroundings. Like most castles, it was surrounded by a stone wall and ramparts. The Blackfyre seemed especially keen on keeping it heavily guarded, with a soldier every ten feet lining the wall. Regardless of the Blackfyre's caution, Jaime was going to find a way to make him regret giving him this level of hospitality. He eyed the bedsheets, trying to decide if there was enough length in the sheets to fashion a rope.

Jaime peered out the window to get a bead on the sun and tried to decide how much time until nightfall. With the approaching winter, even in the south, he found the sun setting lower and lower with each passing day. Still not as low as what he'd seen at either Casterly Rock or King's Landing. By his estimate, it was barely past midday. He still had hours to work with if he intended to escape that very night.

He shed his armor and began his work. He left the bedspread and focused on the bedclothes underneath. If he needed to hide his work, it would be a matter of just throwing the bedspread over to hide it. He wasn't at it for more than an hour, making knots when he heard a knock at his door. Cursing his luck, he immediately threw the bedspread. Not a moment too soon, the door opened and the soldier said to him, "You're to see His Grace."

"He's not my king," Jaime replied, curling his lip in disdain.

"He soon will be," the soldier answered. "Now, hands behind your back. If you fight, I'll be none too gentle, and we'll haul you down to him like a sack of potatoes."

Jaime did his best to soften. Let them think I am amenable, he thought. He would make sure he was no end of trouble before too long.

His eyes roved the walls ceaselessly as he looked for weak spots. There seemed to be plenty of nooks and crannies to hide, though they were quite slim. From what he saw, there weren't all that many guards in the hall. Perhaps it would be possible to climb to a lower window and navigate his way out. He wouldn't be able to spring anyone else from their cells, it would just be him.

They came to a heavy door and the guard pounded on it.

"Enter," a voice called out.

Jaime was led in and a red film fell across his eyes once more as he took in all of the people. Varys was standing at the Blackfyre's left hand side, as passive as ever. He showed minimal curiosity. The Blackfyre himself sat in a large chair and was rubbing his chin thoughtfully as Jaime came to the center. His hair was silver as the blood of a Blackfyre suggested. A scar ran down his forehead and across his right eye, leaving it milky white with blindness. Despite the affliction, he was broad in the shoulder and dressed in his Blackfyre armor. Though most of it was steely gray, on his chest plate was the Blackfyre red dragon on a black field. He appeared only a bit younger than David or Ser Barristan. The man with the feathered helmet Jaime spotted earlier stood on his right side, with his helmet under his arm. He was similarly as impassive as Varys. Spread around the room on the Blackfyre's side were half a dozen armored men, clearly meant to be his version of the kingsguard. Instead of white cloaks, they bore the red of the Blackfyre and the metalwork on their helmets was scaled as if to look like a dragon. Finally, David stood at the side, peering down his nose imperiously at him.

Jaime made to lunge for him, forgetting for a moment that his hands were tied behind his back. His guard grabbed him just as quickly and hauled him back.

"Don't embarrass yourself, Lord Lannister. I know you're smarter than you seem," David drawled to him, his voice teal with mocking.

"If I'd been smarter, I would've killed you when I first met you," Jaime snarled, feeling nauseated at the bloody red as his voice rebounded off the walls.

David chuckled. "You and Pod would've found yourself in the sea at the mercy of the sharks. Would that have helped your king any? We saved your life."

"More like spared me for your greater ambition!"

"And what a greater ambition that was."

The Blackfyre watched the exchange with keen interest. "What was your ambition?"

"It was to heal the peasantry as I pleased. It worked for a time, but the king and his lackey had eyes far bigger than their stomachs. There is only so much subterfuge I can take." His voice rippled with the first rings of the traitorous purple.

Jaime roared and lunged again, but the guards pulled him back and forced him to the floor.

"I will kill you."

"We'll see about that," David replied disdainfully, his voice gleefully green.

"Yes, thank you for your service, David," the Blackfyre interrupted in an accent that Jaime placed as Pentosi. His voice was a languid sky blue, clearly enjoying the position that he found himself. "Now that Lord Lannister is here, at your request, I'd like to discuss payment. We never hammered out a price, which, if I'm being honest, surprises me. After so much time among mercenaries, it's unheard of to rely on such good faith. I very nearly wrote you off as a poor attempt at spying. But you assured me that I would have little difficulty in fulfilling your request." The Blackfyre's eyes fell on Varys, who didn't seem to notice the attention being paid to him. "So what is your price?"

David smiled and stepped forward until he was standing in front of the Blackfyre. Were the guards not holding him down, Jaime didn't think he'd be able to resist lunging again and strangling the healer. Though his hands were cuffed by his back, he started his attempt to get his hands in front.

"Indeed, fulfilling my price will be nothing short of simple. I want you," David said simply.

The Blackfyre blinked and then sat up. "I beg your pardon."

"I'm betraying you," David said, tipping his head back confidently.

Jaime's rage melted into confusion and he stared. What is this madness?

"Is this some kind of jape?" The Blackfyre derided.

"I am deadly serious." The healer was still wearing an affable smile, but his eyes were as hard and cold as stone. An undercurrent of orange mixed with the eerie deep blue of his usual affectation.

The Blackfyre exchanged a puzzled look with Varys. "You betrayed King Aemon and by extension Lord Lannister for a chance to …."

"To kill you," David drawled, as if speaking to a child. He opened up his gray jerkin and pulled out a simple knife.

Jaime scoffed. Even he wasn't skilled enough to win with a knife against a dozen men. The healer was truly mad.

At the pronouncement, all of the soldiers in the room pulled out their swords. Jaime was flabbergasted, but he noticed the soldiers let him go to unsheathe their swords. He took the opportunity to get his hands from behind him to in front of him.

The Blackfyre was stunned. "Impossible. There are a dozen men here who would stop you before you even took a single step."

"Oh?" David said and took a step forward. "I'm still breathing."

The Blackfyre snapped his fingers at a "kingsguard." The man strode forward with all of the urgency of an errand boy sent to fetch tea. At first, David matched his energy, standing motionless but languid. The kingsguard made to grab him to shove his sword through the middle, when David grabbed his wrist and twisted it, breaking it. The scream had barely left the man's mouth before David swooped in and sliced his throat.

"If he's lucky, he'll be dead before what I'm about to do to you."

The Blackfyre glared, pursing his lips into a solid line. "I don't understand. What were you hoping to achieve?"

David pointed his knife at the Blackfyre and brandished it like a maester lecturing his pupils. "Sixty years. Sixty years, I've spent laying down the path to make the battle against the Long Night as easy as possible. There were quite a few headaches. Moments where one decision from an errant player would have ruined it all, but I'll be damned, Aemon Targaryen and Jaime Lannister pulled through. Everything was going smoothly … and then you entered the board." David spread his hands akimbo, disgust all over his face.

Jaime could only stare. Does he … does he know what the Gods entrusted us with? But how?

"You threatened to ruin it all! My plans, their plans, all up in the air because you couldn't just take your pound of flesh in Essos. You insisted on vying for the throne and a bloody dragon during the Long Night," David snarled. "You were going to split the front and stretch the lines thin, costing millions more innocent lives in this foolish bid. Well, I won't let you. It ends here." He took another step.

The Blackfyre immediately snapped his fingers again and pointed. The kingsguard and the two soldiers near Jaime rushed David all at once. David lashed out with his knife and caught a soldier on the chin, leaving a streak of blood. But then one kingsguard ran him through and another slit his throat for good measure, a jet of dark red blood sprayed them all. David slumped to the floor, using one fist to prop himself up. He breathed heavily and used the other hand to stem the blood pouring from his neck. The one kingsguard left his sword in him and stepped back.

"I could have made you as rich as a king. I would've given you Casterly Rock," the Blackfyre intoned, shaking his head in a mixture of confusion and disdain, a combination of murky yellow and swampy green. He rose from his chair and approached, standing and staring down at David imperiously. "Now look at you: dead. A traitor to both sides."

Jaime stared at David, feeling the hairs on the back of his neck raise. Though he could hardly say he knew David, he'd never been a fool. He never made a move without considering it carefully. For all of Jaime's fury and threats, he knew that if David truly had wanted to disappear, he likely would have.

Then David stood once more, unconcerned with the volume of blood leaking from his injuries. He was still breathing heavily, but his gaze was steady and even.

The Blackfyre stepped back, perturbed. "Who are you? What are you?"

"I have many faces," David replied, his voice now distorted. He took a step and swiped his bloody hand over his face, and Jaime watched it change into Captain Lucille's, his body shortening and changing to show her womanly hips. He took another step forward and swiped again, and then bore the likes of Euron Greyjoy. Jaime reeled back, his eyes widening and his heart pounding.

"A faceless?" The Blackfyre said and he stepped back again, fear now apparent.

Euron's face twisted into a crazed smile. "You may call me the Stranger." His voice only distorting further, deepening and lightening all at once. A fractious combination of all of the colors of the rainbow now emanated from the sound of his voice and Jaime pinched his eyes against it, feeling the deeper parts of it vibrate through him.

A rumble like thunder sounded. All of the blood that had spilled out of the Stranger's body turned an inky black. It began seeping over the Stranger's skin, covering him from head to toe, only his eyes blazed in his face, the color of fire. He paid it no mind as he reached for the sword still stuck in him and yanked it out, then allowed it to fall from his limp fingers and clatter against the ground.

The Blackfyre wrenched out Blackfyre and charged, but stopped in his tracks as the black blood seemed to take on a life of its own, beginning to climb up his leg. Varys shrieked and tried to leave, but the ink was creeping up his backside too. Everyone was similarly trying to wipe the inky blackness from them. Jaime shrank back against the wall, curling up and making himself as small as possible. The black blood puddled around him, stopping at an invisible barrier. Jaime was careful not to touch it.

He thought he saw the Stranger glance his way, but then redirected his focus on the writhing, screaming people once more. They all began to shriek gutturally as the blood reached their faces and began to crawl down their open throats. Instead of paying them any mind, he stepped past them as if taking a stroll and headed out into the hallway.

More screams rent the air. Ever since he'd gained the ability to see sounds, he'd never encountered what sheer terror might look like. It was a blinding white that echoed off the walls and made him sick to his stomach. He had to squint to continue watching. Though he didn't scream, he felt a similar terror that left him trembling against the wall. The people in front of him clawed frantically at their skin, stumbling around as if in agonizing pain. One by one, they dropped, the cries dying in their throats, and they laid unmoving on the floor.

The room had quieted, but the cacophony of screams continued to grow outside.

Would anyone else even be spared? he wondered. Though the sound had diminished, the blinding white of terror continued to fill his vision. His stomach roiled and his head pounded with the sharpness of the pain until his eyes rolled and he blacked out.

When he came to, all was quiet. He found himself sprawled across the floor, still nestled up against the wall of the Honeyholt grand room. He carefully opened his eyes and peered around himself. He still felt the lingering remnants of a seizure. He leveraged himself up into a sitting position carefully, glancing to the window above him to see pale morning light streaming in. It had been late afternoon when he'd first been hauled in for an audience with the Blackfyre. It was then he noticed that the rope binding his hands had fallen to pieces and he wondered what may have freed him.

He shivered irrepressibly as he recalled the scene. David—no, the Stranger!—had decided it was time to reap the souls of the Blackfyre and all he kept close. His betrayal had been a ploy to come within striking distance of the menace and his entire army. Jaime was certain David was touched in the head for such a stupid notion, and then he'd unleashed a curse of such depth and breadth that the Blackfyre and all who were loyal to him had simply dropped dead, or so it seemed.

Jaime carefully stood from his sitting position and hesitantly approached the Blackfyre. Flies were already buzzing around the bodies. He peered carefully to see the Blackfyre's face was frozen into a permanent rictus of terror, his eyes still wide open. A fly crawled across it. Jaime shied away.

Before he'd been remade to live his kingsguard years, he hadn't put much stock in the Gods, thinking them markedly absent and uncaring. That had obviously changed as he found himself awakened back into the past, but again, the Gods were hardly present, carefully choosing to deign him with a sign when he showed signs of wavering. But apparently, for the last seven years, a God had been living right under his nose within striking distance.

The Stranger of them all, he thought, feeling another shudder. There was no specific malice regarding the Stranger. He was simply meant to shepherd passing souls as they met their doom. But David had actively reaped. How many threats had he and Aemon been spared because David hadn't even given them the opportunity to grow?

Why hadn't he simply reaped Baelish? Or Varys? he thought, causing bile to rise in his throat. David had not visited pleasant deaths upon any of his marks. He's not sure even they had deserved that. He glanced to Varys, who similarly held a look of pure terror on his face. Would drowning in your own blood be worse than this? He did a cursory search, merely feeling on the outside of the Blackfyre's clothes, but found no visible marks of injury done to them. He quickly stepped away, feeling unnerved.

He'd turned to walk away when the sword in the Blackfyre's hand caught his eye. The blade was dark gray, with a large grip that ended in a fixed ruby pommel. A dragon was carved just above the black leather grip. Blackfyre, Jaime thought, marveling. David hadn't lied about the Blackfyre being in possession of it.

Jaime hesitated, but then bent down and worked to get the sword free from the Blackfyre's death grasp. He was forced to bend the fingers back to their knuckles to get it free. He held it to his chest like a babe and finally decided he'd had enough of the grand room. He removed the sheath and quickly tied it to his waist. He was fairly certain there wasn't a single enemy alive in the castle, but he held the sword up at the ready anyway.

When he stepped out into the hall, the bodies of more soldiers were strewn about. It seemed some had rushed to their king's aid, only to be met with the viscous black blood of the Stranger.

He frowned piteously at them all; dead, for the crime of being loyal to their king. Death had awaited them on the battlefield just as surely, but fighting and dying for their king was a worthy cause. There was no honor in these deaths.

Jaime looked around, trying to think of his next move. He needed to find a horse and ride back to Aemon as quickly as possible. He also needed to find his sword. Then he remembered that his armor was back in his cell before he'd been hauled unceremoniously down to the grand room for this ill-fated turn of events. He tried to remember the path he'd taken up and down the stairs, but his memories were still muddled from the seizure; he had to double back and take a different turn.

There were bodies everywhere. All of the soldiers he met in the hall had appeared to simply lay down for their deaths.

"Who's there? What's happened?" Ser Barristan called out from his room, clearly having listened at the door.

"Hold on," Jaime called.

Jaime had forgotten that he wasn't originally alone and he hurried over and began searching the guard's pockets for the keys. He found a ring with a dozen, which he hoped meant he had them all. It took him a few tries, but he found the right key and heard the lock turn before he wrenched open the door.

"Jaime? What in seven hells has happened?" Barristan asked.

"How much did you see?" Jaime asked, seeing the windows and he went over to them. The ramparts were largely bare, but he could see a few soldiers' bodies fallen where they'd stood. One had slumped over the wall and another was hanging off, ready to fall.

"I heard screaming," Barristan began, his face lined with worry. "It seemed to last for a bloody long time. I didn't see anything, and then I saw something black, like a fog, roll over the grounds. It seemed to suffocate all it touched. I saw hundreds, if not thousands, fleeing to the fields. I feared that I would be left to starve. Did you see what happened?"

Jaime's jaw worked soundlessly. What could he even say? Even though Barristan was familiar with the story of his other life, breathing of the presence of the Stranger felt akin to being one of the High Sparrow's militant faith. "Uuhh, I-uh-I'm not sure," he said. "The Seven have cursed this place." His voice, for once, trembled an uneven yellow.

Ser Barristan was quiet and he eyed him warily. He seemed to know that Jaime wasn't being entirely truthful.

"David—" At the healer's name, Barristan's face darkened "—he wrought magic I've never seen or heard before," Jaime whispered. He worked to bring his voice back to a steady blue, but recalling the event left him shaken.

"The healer? The one who betrayed us?" Barristan growled, his voice oscillating from blue to red.

Jaime laughed shakily. "It was a double-cross, or so he said. He betrayed us to get close enough to the Blackfyre to kill him."

Barristan stared, his anger shifting to shock. "And he succeeded?"

"Look around," Jaime snapped. "He more than succeeded!"

"That sword!"

Jaime looked down and moved his hand to show the etched dragon.

"I remember that sword," Barristan murmured, his eyes widening and his voice turning a pale blue. "Maelys Blackfyre used it in his battle against me."

"It was in the possession of this Blackfyre," Jaime said. "We need to leave. I don't care to be here any longer than I have to."

While Jaime retrieved his armor, Barristan freed the others: Addam, Olyvar, Arya, and Edric Dayne. They had seen as much as Barristan, leaving them confused and disturbed. Though Jaime at times felt Arya had uncharacteristic bloodlust, even she appeared shaken by all of the bodies simply lying around. They checked the dungeons and found Lord and Lady Beesbury languishing in a damp cell. They had heard their guards screaming in fright, but otherwise hadn't seen anything from their cell. They stared in horror at all of the bodies they were careful to step over.

"Where are the servants?" Lord Beesbury asked.

"Gone, I presume," Jaime replied.

"Those who lived fled," Barristan said.

"Our home … cursed. Defiled. We can't live here," Lord Beesbury muttered. Given that his skin was grimy and his hair unkempt from his many weeks in the dungeon, Jaime found his concern misplaced. But he couldn't imagine having to clear thousands of bodies from the whole of Casterly Rock. He didn't envy them their task. "The Gods have forsaken Honeyholt."

"You may be right," Jaime whispered.

Once they entered the grounds, they found hundreds more corpses yet littering the premises. Everyone was appalled at the slaughter that lay before them. Edric finally dared to touch one body, but he pulled his hand back as if burned. "How did they die? I see no marks, nothing to suggest a mortal wound," he said.

Jaime drew his mouth into a firm line, but he refused to say any more. Instead he said, "Let's search for our weapons." They searched the grounds in a hurried manner, surreptitiously glancing around at all of the dead, afraid to even acknowledge them. They eventually found all of their weapons, including Daybreak bundled together in a storeroom.

The castle was filled to the brim with more men than it could handle, so a temporary stable had been erected to accommodate the new horses, but when they went outside the stables were empty. It was then that Jaime realized that there weren't any animals in the castle at all. Not even the crows dared to enter, leaving the skies surprisingly clear. He looked out and did see a number of horses scattered about on the plains, eating the long grass. He gave a sharp, clear whistle and his own horse, Agro, called back and began galloping toward him. However, it stopped a quarter-of-a-mile away and refused to come any closer. He frowned. Rounding up the horses was going to take some time. Time he didn't have.

He turned to the group. "I need to reach a castle as quickly as possible."

"Starfall is close by," Edric said. "You can send your letters from there."

Jaime frowned, considering it. It wasn't in the direction he needed it to be, hopefully North. But he no longer had the safety of the army and the supplies in their packs were meager, having relied on a supply train. "Thank you, Lord Dayne, I will take you up on your offer."

"I will need my men. I know you intend to go north. To the Long Night?" Edric asked, his eyes glittering intensely.

"I appreciate your eagerness to fight, but I will need you here in the South. We still need to free the Hightowers and there are thousands of mercenaries to round up before they cause more harm. I didn't see the livery of any Lannister soldiers nearby. They should be about somewhere, having probably fled like the Blackfyre's men. Find them, if you can."

"Yes, Lord Lannister," Edric replied, wilting a tad.

Arya was similarly annoyed and huffed. "I was promised a fight!"

"There's still time enough for you to meet the undead in battle," Jaime drawled. "There are a million undead. We're prepared, yes, but make no mistake: this will be no easy task."

Edric nodded and then his gaze wandered to Honeyholt and he said, "What of this place?"

Jaime looked at Honeyholt and merely shook his head, lost for words. In truth, it seemed appropriate to encourage one of the dragons to melt it like Balerion had done to Harrenhal. He only shook his head and shrugged. "Come, we've wasted enough daylight as it is!"