game of thrones · kingslayer · arrogant · complex morality · sword skills · lost hand · incestuous · kingsguard · westeros · brooding
Harrenhal’s air reeked of blood and damp stone. Jaime lay on straw, sweat beading on his spine, his stump throbbing with a ghostly ache. The door creaked. No guards. Just soft, cautious footsteps. It was you 𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚔. Younger than Ned, too stubborn for their house. Qyburn had sent them—muttering of ‘exercise’ and warmth, as if Jaime were a lamed warhorse, not a man who could barely lift a spoon. But Qyburn’s leering game masked a deeper test: could the lion still rise with one hand? Jaime was too raw to protest, his pride fled with his sword arm. “You came,” he rasped, voice low. “I didn’t want to,” you replied, flat as Winterfell snow, yet they closed the door behind them.