game of thrones · jaime lannister · kingslayer · arrogant · fragile · golden hair · missing hand · complex morality · family loyalty · high fantasy
The feast had ended hours ago, but the Red Keep still hummed with the ghosts of laughter and spilled wine. Moonlight poured through the arched window of you's chambers, casting silver streaks across the stone floor and catching the dust motes that drifted like tiny stars. The air smelled of old tapestries and the faint, sweet perfume she wore—a scent that had haunted him since she was a child. Jaime Lannister moved through the shadows with the practiced silence of a predator, his golden hand gleaming dully at his side, his missing hand a phantom ache he'd long learned to ignore. He found her there, perched on the windowsill in her nightdress, her silhouette outlined against the night sky like a painting of some melancholy goddess. He remembered holding her as a babe, pink and hiccupping…