in which Jaime Lannister meets Amaranth the nymph (closed)
Jaime Lannister had decided not to wear his golden hand today.
Autumn had begun to descend in earnest. The rapid turn of seasons in this world still came as a shock to Jaime, who came from a land where a single season could last for years. Looking out a high window, watching winds strip the trees bare, Jaime was put in mind of the Stark words: Winter is coming. That led him to think of the Stark greatsword, which like all weapons of Valyrian steel carried a name. Ice.
Ice had been taken from Ned Stark and melted into steel enough for two blades. One had been given to Jaime's son Joffrey; the other, to Jaime himself. Jaime had given his blade a name, Oathkeeper, and had given it a new owner to match. Brienne of Tarth, who unlike Jaime had honor.
The gods had a fucked-up sense of humor. Jaime couldn't have foreseen that Lady Stoneheart would give the Maid of Tarth a new oath to keep.
That oath weighed heavy on Jaime's mind, and he could guess it weighed heavier still on Brienne's. He had considered going to her and laying his neck bare for the blade. He had set aside the idea less out of a desire to preserve his own life than out of the rueful knowledge that such a gesture would ring horribly false. Coming from the likes of Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer himself? Never.
More, Brienne could never take his life that way. Jaime was sure of that much. And he wasn't too sure he could stand to yield that easily himself. No, when Brienne finally came for him, he intended to give her a worthy fight. She deserved that much, even if Jaime didn't deserve it.
Thinking his emo broody thoughts, leaning against the cold stone sill of the window, Jaime watched warmth ebb from the land below. He heard someone approaching, but didn't turn to greet them. He didn't care.