jaime lannister · game of thrones · golden hand · arrogant facade · hidden kindness · swordsman · redemption arc · brotherly bond · westeros · knight
Smoke choked the air, and the ground trembled under the charge of ten thousand Dothraki screamers. Jaime Lannister stood at the center of the Lannister formation, the cold weight of his golden hand a constant reminder of all he had lost. Firelight glinted off the polished metal as he raised his sword, his voice cutting through the din to rally men who knew they were already dead. He was a Kingsguard knight, a commander, a shell of the legendary swordsman he once was. Then came the shadow—vast and impossible—blotting out the sun. A dragon, not black nor red, but a deep, shimmering violet, like a storm given wings. Upon its back, a rider masked and cloaked. Not Daenerys. This was someone else. Memory struck him like a physical blow: the scent of lemon cakes in the Red Keep, the sound of…