The following story fits in completely with the plot of 'A Game Of Thrones'. Thousands of years of lore have been carefully considered, analysed, and accounted for. Hundreds of characters and their names, families and banners will come together to fill the rich background of this tale. Not a single historical or logical inconsistency will exist, that I can-

Forget that.

Take a single word of this story seriously. I fucking dare you.

Jaime Lannister shook his head in disbelief, almost smiling at how ridiculous it all was. He'd hardly been able to do anything else the past couple hours, the news was so shocking. Just pondered it over again and again inside his glorious blond brain.

Hodor, the Starks' giant of a stable hand, was a Lannister.

It was surely damn difficult to believe, but that's what Tywin had said. They were all at Casterly Rock, even Cersei had been called from King's Landing because of the news. She was to take a break from fucking that fat oaf Robert, the king that Jaime was fairly sure he'd contracted something from, due to a family crisis. Tyrion was satisfied as usual with a couple whores, so he brought some willingly mobile ones with him to visit the Lannister home.

Tywin had gathered them all in his study, that strange old woman on his arm, saying that his wife was alive, saying that Joanna was with them again. And that she had a son, born from Tywin's seed.

Apparently this woman was his long lost wife, Jaime's mother. She'd smiled at him, teeth missing and patchy scalp. Hard to believe, but it had to be true, where else would Jaime and Cersei get their looks from if not this woman? Certainly not Tywin, that was for sure. She had a few wisps of white hair left on her head, but they could have easily been Lannister blonde in their day, so Tywin had explained.

The meddling Starks had kept her captive in their house for decades, since Tyrion's birth. They made her tell stories to their children. The younger ones called her 'Old Nan' which Tywin said was both insulting to the house, and a personal injustice to Joanna. Still looked as lovely as ever, with a few teeth gone and a couple score pounds added. Tywin had picked her up during a visit with the King to the Starks' place in the North, and had a romantic reunion the second he saw her with Bran Stark. That little boy was a metaphorical bastard, treating the Lady Joanna Lannister like a servant. Always scampering around, climbing up and watching things he shouldn't.

"Jaime?" he heard his father calling, and abruptly looked up from the bench on which he sat. All of them were gathered in Casterly Rock, but it was a big place, and Jaime had hoped he wouldn't have to talk to Tywin or his wife.

However, he was nestled in the Armoury, the most obvious place for a knight of his handsome calibre to be found, so find him his father did.

And brought Jaime's mother with him.

They marched into the extensively filled Armoury, Tywin giggling like a little child, and Joanna laughing with his arm wrapped around her shoulder.

"Yes, Father?" Jaime sighed. Joanna laughed some more, an old cackle, like the one a witch would produce.

"I would like you to say hello to your mother. Cersei and Tyrion have been very polite, and they came up the the mead hall to greet her when she came in, but you've been moping around here like a spoiled little boy."

"But-" Jaime started to protest.

"I know you love cleaning your armour, son, but family takes precedence."

Jaime was wearing his armour, as always. It was so golden, and shiny, he never wanted to take it off, ever.

"All right,"

"So share your greetings with my wife, then Jaime, lad,"

"Dad, I'm the Kingslayer, I don't need to be told what to do!" Jaime complained. Tywin looked at him with an impressively disapproving frown. Joanna, thankfully, just smiled at him kindly.

"Son." Tywin cautioned, not appreciating Jaime's tone.

Jaime let out a huffing sigh. "Fine. Mother, I am honoured to have you here at Casterly Rock. I hope you stay here for all eternity," Tywin looked at him scornfully, as if that statement wasn'tenough. As if that wasn't gracious enough for a mother he'd never known. "and," he looked upon Joanna's shrivelled face, her ancient, glazed eyes staring right into the murky depths of his soul. Jaime was glad he had his armour on to protect him from those eyes, "I hope that you have many more children in the years to come," he managed to spit out. Tywin smiled and clapped him on the back. Joanna just opened her mouth to grin, displaying a smile filled with missing teeth, and the ones that were there weren't pleasant. Tywin pulled her close and gave her a big, sloppy kiss. Jaime tried to look away, but somehow he was unable to. Either horrified or drawn in, and he hoped it was the former. They were using their tongues heavily now, and Jaime just hoped that Joanna didn't dislodge one of her teeth.

Wasn't there something Tywin had said, years ago, about Joanna dying giving birth to Tyrion?

Joanna started moaning, which was closer to a wheeze than anything else, and Jaime decided he didn't want to interrupt them to find out, and quickly left the armoury. He didn't even bother to pick up the armour polish he'd come down here to find on the way out.

Before he stepped out he caught one last glimpse of Tywin pushing Joanna against the wall, knocking over a set of jousting poles that were stacked against it.

Wisely, Jaime closed the door and ran away from the place as quickly as he could, armour jingling with every step. He ran all the way up to their grand dining hall, where Tywin mentioned that Tyrion would be. He needed to talk to Tyrion, needed to talk to anyone, needed to pour his feelings onto a sympathetic individual. Jaime felt a strange, overpowering urge to tell his friends the closest secrets of his heart, because this was Fanfiction, damnit! Not a real book, one with emotions!

He pushed the heavy doors of their big dining hall open, and looked upon the long tables that were strung out inside it. Five, with a large one across the top for the high-and-mighty lords to look down at the peasants upon. That was the point of it, right?

Music flowed from the side of the room, but Jaime was used to that. Tywin hired some bards to play 'The Rains Of Castamere' constantly on a loop over and over again in their dining hall. It drove the guests insane, but the Lannister children had learned to block it out of their heads over the years. They even did it when no one was in the room, as Jaime had often walked past to hear 'And so he spoke, and so he spoke...' drifting out of the window to the floors above. Often the voices of the singers started to wear down, and they had to replace them quickly.

The Lannisters had fucktons of money, and Jaime figured this wasn't the House's worst expenditure.

The bard and lutist beside him finished a particularly off-key rendition, and began the song again.

"And who are you, the proud-"

"Jaime?" a familiar voice tugged at his ears, and he noticed Tyrion sitting at the near table, drink in hand. Instantly, he searched the area for immediate whores, but seemed to find a lack of any. Cersei was sitting across the table, looking disgusted by her brother's drinking. He might have failed in his search for whores a second ago, then. Her face lit up, however, when she noticed Jaime standing in the doorway. As it damn well should have. Jaime strode towards them, and leaned over to rest his hands on the table.

"Hodor..." Jaime breathed, shaking his head, "who would have thought?"

"Well, who did you expect it to be?" Tyrion said, delving deeper into the drink.

"Not a fucking giant who's been shoveling dung for the Starks his whole life!" Cersei shrieked, going near hysterical.

"Be careful what you say, Cersei," Tyrion cautioned.

"What? You going to tell him?" Cersei snapped "I doubt that-" she screamed, a shrill sound Jaime was used to hearing, but in far, far better circumstances.

A large, hairy hand placed itself on Cersei's shoulder, more than half the size of her head. The fingernails were broken and unclipped. The arm led up to a hulking shoulder, far above their height, and onto a giant, pudgy, ugly face. One that was grinning wildly like the feral things north of the Wall.

"Hodor." said Hodor. Cersei screamed again, then spoke.

"Were you here, the entire time we've been talking?" she addressed Hodor.

"Hodor," said Hodor. That seemed to answer things. Cersei put an exasperated palm to her head.

"He must have the blood of the giant!" Jaime exclaimed.

"Hel-lo!" Tyrion said from his chair, pointing towards himself, still only just tall enough to reach the table. "Do I have the blood of a giant, brother?"

"Point taken," Jaime admitted, staring at Hodor. The overweight, oversized, over brawny man stared straight back, smiling as if it were the greatest day in his life. The bastard had just come from shoveling dung all the way to the great citadel of Casterly Rock, of course it was the greatest day of his bloody life!

"Do you understand what he's talking about?" Jaime whispered to Tyrion, hoping that Hodor couldn't hear.

"Hodor!" Hodor said.

"Can't tell a damn thing the man is saying!" Cersei raged.

"Isn't it obvious?" Tyrion jested.

"What?" Cersei snapped.

"He's saying, 'Hodor'." Tyrion laughed. Jaime grabbed one of the chairs at the table and sat down exhaustedly, knowing well he would be more exhausted the more Hodoring that went on. He managed to sit easily, despite the glorious golden armour that he wore, in fact, it made sitting a lot more comfortable.

"Hodor." Hodor said, pointing to Jaime's armour.

"Mine!" Jaime barked, scooting his chair away from the grubby, reaching hand.

They sat there for a while, mostly in silence, but for the sound of Tyrion's excessive drinking, Cersei's massive sighs, Hodor's occasional outbreaks of 'Hodor' and the torrent of Castamere that was becoming an increasing effort for the bard to sing by the time he reached the twentieth time or so.

It never occurred to ask the musicians to play something different, but Jaime thought about asking them now, just to break the awkwardness that seeped over the Lannister children. But then the bard got to the 'Coat of Gold' part again, and Jaime realised that it was just too catchy to stop.

Eventually, Jaime ended up nudging Tyrion to move things along. The dwarf spilled some of his newly refilled wine over the table.

"Oy!" he exclaimed, wiping the drips off the glass with his hand, "I was going to drink that!"

"What a surprise," Cersei yammered back, picking at her immaculately clean fingernails, probably trying not to think about the state of Hodor's.

"Tyrion..." Jaime started uncertainly.

"What?"

"Do we have any worthy wenches in the Rock for Ser Hodor?" he asked.

"Come again?"

"Women of questionable virtue who might show interest in our new brother. Show him that he's welcome?" Jaime tried to explain. Cersei shot him a look filled with daggers once she caught the meaning. Tyrion nodded his approval. Anything to get them out of sitting here a moment longer, Jaime needed to get back to polishing his armour.

"Why would you ask me for that, of all people?" Tyrion said.

Cersei did the closest equivalent that a respectable lady could to snorting. It sounded like a polite little sneeze, but Jaime knew her too well. Plus, she snored in exactly the same tone. Jaime just looked at Tyrion, not saying a word. The Imp shrugged.

"All right, Jaime," he pushed the chair away from the long table and hopped off it, now closer to the ground than he had been sitting. "Come on, Hodor. I might have someone entertainment in the kitchens, somewhere on the Rock at least." he motioned for Hodor to stand up, and stand he did, in a flurry of gargantuan movement, knocking the heavy table violently towards Cersei as he stood up, sending all of Tyrion's drinking equipment flying into the air faster than even a Fus Roh Dah could carry it.

Giant and dwarf left, dwarf looking more than a little nervous about the lumbering Hodor stepping on top of him by accident. When they were gone, Cersei turned conspiratorially towards Jaime. She didn't really turn towards people in any other way. Right in the middle of 'and mine are long, and sharp-'

"You know what this means, don't you?" she asked him. Jaime would have shrugged, but the armour prevented it, a con that he was perfectly willing to put up with. But then it struck him.

"Hodor isn't... heir, is he? He's not older than-"

"No! He was born after Tyrion, didn't you listen when Mother told us what happened to her?" so Cersei had already accepted them both as family.

Jaime breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank the gods, imagine if he was. Hodor, lord of House Lannister, the Lion of Casterly Rock."

"We must have giant blood in us, Jaime!"

"We already have dwarf blood," Jaime pointed out. Somehow, to Cersei, it didn't seem like the same thing.

"Listen, think about all the things Mother told us about her life for the past few decades. She was captured by the Starks. Forced to be their prisoner and look after their children, our poor brother Hodor cleaned the horse latrines for them."

Jaime saw what she meant. The Starks holding a Lannister captive against her will, forcing them both to do menial work? The prospect was scandalous, absolutely outrageous.

"Mother was made to tell their children stories and teach them needlework. They even referred to her as 'Old Nan'."

"I understand, Cersei. We will have quite a dispute with the Starks next time we head to Winterfell."

"It's bigger than that, Jaime! This could end up in a house war!" she growled and clenched her fists until they went white. "I just want to line up all those damn Stark children that forced our gracious mother to work like a slave, and push them out of one of their high Winterfell tower windows."

"That's a little specific, Cersei. Besides, we shouldn't push them off a window, they could survive, albeit with some amnesia. Eventually they could recall our attempts at murder and tell their parents." should just kill them with a knife straight off, that would do it better than pushing the child out a window. But Cersei wasn't the Kingslayer, she didn't know how to get rid of peeping children as easily as Jaime.

Cersei's rage stopped, and she just seemed to despair.

"We'll have to cease all dealings with the Starks," she gazed around the hall thoughtfully, staring beyond the bards she appeared to be looking at. "Joff isn't going to be pleased, we'll end his engagement with the oldest daughter. He'll be so upset, might demand they marry nonetheless."

"Who gives a single raging fuck for what prince Joffrey wants?" Jaime asked. Honestly, it was a question he wanted answered, not an exclamation. Find him one person in the entire fandom who would like Joffrey to be happy and he would be satisfied.
"He's your son!" Cersei trumpeted. Jaime was going to deny that until he met the grave.

"No! Of course he isn't. How could a little shit like that spring from the loins of someone so dashingly good looking, so admirable, so alluring, so angelic, so appealing, so charming, so classy, so dazzling, so divine, so elegant, so enticing, so exquisite, so fair, so foxy, so gorgeous, so magnificent, so ravishing, so resplendent, so shapely, so statuesque, so sublime, so taking, so well-formed and so wonderful as myself?" Jaime said. He could have said it in far more words, too.

"Well he's not Robert's child, that's for sure," Cersei said. Jaime's then, unless Cersei had lain with that enigmatic Master of Whispers. Jaime had certainly thought about it before, but Varys hadn't seemed interested.

Most likely Joffrey was Jaime's. Most unfortunately indeed. All Cersei's fault, she was raising him to be as bitchy a little princess as she was. "Joff might be coming here later, you have to act responsible. As a father, and the only man with any balls in the entire family,"

Jaime was pretty sure Hodor might fit into that category now, the way that he'd been in the clearing with Bran. But he just nodded at his sister's request.

Sleeping with Cersei all the time was great. Really. He got booty twice as much as he usually would, had been rockin' with her since they lay together in the cradle, and he didn't have to deal with the repercussions that inevitable pregnancy produced. The whole setup had seemed so wonderful.

Until prince Joffrey came along. Made him wish he'd kept his golden armour on in bed the whole time.

"Be nice to prince Joffrey, his heart is good, and he needs a positive figure to look up to. He'd never hurt a fly, truly, my Joff."

"Would he hurt a cat and cut its unborn children from the womb?" Jaime didn't really know why he said that. Just sort of came out, things like that often did.

"What!" Cersei stood up abruptly from the table. Quite rightly too. Jaime cursed his big mouth. Cut a cat's offspring from its belly? Why would little Joffrey do something like that? Sometimes he couldn't help himself. "Have you been drinking with Tyrion again?"

"No..." Jaime replied. He'd been sulking down in the Armoury the entire time, thinking about Hodor. Hodor, Hodor, Hodor, Hodor, Hodor. As Hodor would say. She just made a disgusted sniff and skipped away from him towards the door, heels clacking on the ground. Servants pulled the door open, and Jaime was left alone.

A bit of an overreaction. Jaime had only insulted her son, and it was obvious that it needed doing by someone, but Cersei was prone to overreactions. Not trying to make an innuendo, but failing nonetheless, he knew all the things Cersei Lannister reacted to.

Jaime decided he didn't need to mope any longer. Hodor was his brother, not the heir. Lords had plenty of brothers, and perhaps Hodor would make a good... Steward? No. Probably be best to send the giant to the Knight's Watch before he created young heirs of his own. Jaime walked the long distance out of the mead hall himself, taking a brief glance at the weary bards, still going at the song.

A servant opened the heavy doors for him. Of course, Jaime didn't know his name. Jaime didn't have time for the names of all the lords and nobles, let alone the servants. Like, people such as Vayon Poole. Who the fuck was Vayon Poole? Or Ser Willas Tyrell? Jaime surely didn't know, and he didn't think he ever would, either.

So he left the hall, glad to be free of his father and mother, and returned to his own quarters. There was some armour polish there, and he intended to use it.

The entire Lannister clan were seated for dinner, back in the eating hall. All their followers, bannermen, servants, next-of-kin, second-of-kin, somehow-related-of-kin, and pretty much everyone who had ever been associated with the Lannisters ever, were there. Of course, each one of them had a name, and a sigil, ten children, twenty bastards, and a personality trait that was supposed to make them memorable.

For Jaime, the author's attempts to make the characters noteworthy wasn't working, but he knew the name of the man he sat next to. It drummed on the inside of his head more than The Rains of Castamere.

That man was called Hodor.

"Hodor," said Hodor.

On the other side of him at table, was his father, Tywin. At least there was that small mercy. Or so Jaime had thought before dinner had begun. Since the first course was served Tywin and Hodor had started up a heated conversation, and Jaime was all but forced to talk to Joanna.

Earlier Tyrion reported that Hodor had thoroughly enjoyed the entertainment provided by the last few hours, but had wrecked several pieces of furniture in the process. Not purely beds, although there were a fair few of them in the mix. Mostly chairs he tried to sit down upon, doors he attempted to open, a few bones of the wenches they were involved with, and some of the best ones too.

"So, you were carrying heavy goods including sacks of grain, flower, and shit around for the Starks?" Tywin asked, intrigued by his son's words.

"Hodor. Hodor."

"No. You aren't serious, my boy? That is devastating, truly."

"Hodor," Hodor informed him. Tywin seemed so emotionally moved by the statement, it was if he were close to tears.

"I'm so sorry, my son." he sobbed "I wish we had delivered you from Lord Eddard years ago." he was choking back tears now, "We will avenge what the Starks have done to a son of House Lannister."

"Hodor," Hodor mused.

"Don't dwell on the past, Hodor, we have to let go. You will get over this emotional scar the Starks have spread over your tormented mind. Fear, not, you are with family now."

"Hodor." Jaime was fairly sure he was missing something here. Couldn't catch a word of what Hodor was saying. Probably just shocked at his sudden appearance in the family. Like after an enormous explosion, when you are discombobulated.

But they hadn't invented that word yet, and there were mighty few explosions around at the time, so Jaime kept his controversial thoughts to himself.

"So, Hodor," his father insisted, "what are your tastes in fine music?" he took a bite of the the steak which now appeared on the table, through the magical process of serving girls. Jaime liked steak, so he dug into his as well, taking care not to spill any gravy on his newly polished armour.

"Hodor," said Hodor, picking up the steak with his bare paw, and shoving it whole into his massive gullet. Jaime was reminded of a hoover, the way that he grabbed the plate, brought it to his mouth, and systematically sucked the sauce and vegetables off of it.

A hoover, was of course, a specific type of servant who cleared up carpets very efficiently, taking away the smallest piece of dirt from every corner.

"I mean, I personally enjoy a good historic song," Tywin said, tucking in to his own food, "Such as, The Rains of Castamere. Have you heard that one, Hodor?"

"Hodor."

"Really? I must order the lazy bards to play it at some point."

The bards, voices now sore as aged maesters, were just beginning another round of 'And who, are you?' Several lesser bannermen sitting on the lower tables were throwing pieces of vegetable from their meals at the singers. Still they struggled through the song again. A noble effort, the bards would make good knights with endurance such as this.

"Hodor," Hodor told his father. Tywin looked taken aback, almost offended by the critique.

"I see, more of a classical music man yourself. That I can understand,"

"Hooooodoooor!" Hodor protested, as if he had been mistakenly interpreted.

"Oh, my apologies, you appreciate hardcore trance dance scores."

"Hodor," Hodor confirmed.

Jaime was glad to have the meal as a distraction, so he didn't have to talk to his mother. Old Nan was sitting opposite him, just grinning. No meal was in front of her, since the servants were busy mashing the food up so she could eat it without teeth. She just stared at Jaime as he ate.

"I sang The Rains of Castamere to you as a little boy," she told Jaime. Oh no. This required him to smile and produce a response, didn't it?

"I cannot recall," Jaime told her. Wasn't much else he could say.

"Always, as a lullaby for you and Cersei, over and over again. You were such a cute little babe, with dimpled cheeks and curly blond hair,"

"Mother," Jaime started, choosing his words with care, "I am now a knight in the Kingsguard and the heir to Lannister fortunes,"

"And you giggled so happily when I tickled your wee stomach!" Old Nan exclaimed, with a toothless chuckle, loudly enough that several others from the surrounding tables stuck their heads up at the words. Jaime tried to crouch down so they wouldn't see him, but the golden armour didn't allow him to be very mobile.

Joanna- Old Nan- his mother, had a coarse accent, like she was a commoner of the northern province around Winterfell. Must have picked it up during her years there. Hodor, however, was a different matter. Try as he might, Jaime couldn't tell where that voice came from. The deep, guttural shouts of 'Hodor!'. Could have been from the land across the seas, or from Ashford, or from King's Landing, it was difficult to discern. The man truly was an enigma.

The rest of dinner was a similar nightmare. Tyrion was over by the barrels of mead that were stasher at the side of the room, and Cersei chatted with the other plastics at the very end of the table. Jaime, however, was stuck between a rock and a hard place, with Hodor acting as both, and Joanna making inappropriate comments the entire time.

When they had finished the food, however, things got far, far worse than Jaime had even thought possible.

The massive mead hall had nehall even used for dancing, but dancing was obviously Tywin's intention when he took up the hand of his lady wife and ordered all the bannermen and house servants to push aside the lengthways tables to clear a space. Really, it was a lot like the layout of the hall from Harry Potter, Jaime thought, but with a lot more hoes, even more crusty old men, and far fewer children.
But Jaime didn't say a word of his thoughts, because he knew that Harry Potter was a far overused topic on the Fanfiction community, and his own 'fic would totally get flamed for making the comparison.

But all the tables were pushed to the side now, and Tywin brought his lady wife out onto the newly open space. They gazed into each other's eyes as if they weren't completely repulsed by their partner. Dreamily, they even clasped each other's hands, and all went silent in the room. All apart from some burping emerging from Tyrion in the corner, two wenches on the end of his arms. Even the singing bards went silent, a sound Jaime had only heard on a handful of occasions.

Tywin turned toward the bards, the singer was desperately reaching for a drink to quench his parched throat, but quickly dropped it when the Lord of Lannisport commanded him.

"Play The Rains of Castamere!" Tywin ordered them. So much for the silence.

It was a pitiful attempt, on all parts. The bard could hardly croak the words, Tywin's wife was so immobile that she could only take a couple of wavering steps at a time. Jaime could have done a better job, and he was wearing head to toe heavy armour, not to mention a weighty sword at the waist.

He noticed that a handful of the servant women were crying on the sides, and he gave them a quizzical look.

"It's so wonderful to have our beautiful Lady Lannister back at the Rock!" one of them explained, all bleary eyed. He couldn't understand it. He ought to be bawling a level of tears that a fully grown man can only produce at the end of Titanic, but didn't feel a thing. This was his mother here! People usually shat themselves over things like these family reunions, didn't they? Jaime's pants were utterly unsoiled. But that was a good thing, he wouldn't want to get any muck on his armour.

Speaking of his armour, it seemed like it was just about time to go and polish it again, and have a good few bouts with the sword. He knew that he really ought to go and dance with Cersei at that moment if he wanted to get laid any time soon. For some reason, he didn't feel like it right now. Yes, this sudden twist of family events made even Jaime Lannister not want sex from his sister. What was Westeros coming to these days?

Partly though, he didn't want to sire another thing that would grow up to be anywhere near the little bitch that Joffrey was. Let Robert Baratheon take the blame for that fuck-up.

He tried to leave, pushing past the bannermen that were now happily clapping in time to the music as if it were some merry jig instead of something about the fall and bloody murder of another house. Many lords who inhabited Casterly Rock were now dancing with their corresponding partners, each one of them copying the prim stepping movements that Tywin and Joanna were making. Jaime dared to think he could get away amidst all the rowdy chaos. He was a couple strides away from the door, he would make it, he could make it-

"Hodor." a voice came from behind him, a shadow looming over him, flickering in the firelight.

Jaime swivelled to meet his fate. His brother stood there, like a flabby version of the Mountain, looking at Jaime straight on with those dull eyes.

"Hodor." Hodor said. It was a demand, not an invitation.

Jaime winced, he knew what was going to happen, and braced himself at the last second for the shitstorm that was about to come.

Hodor grabbed Jaime's arms forcefully, and grappled them with his enormous hands. With a grin fitting a giant on his face, he pulled Jaime out to the dance floor. Jaime grimaced as Hodor twirled him around in great blundering circles. They frolicked together in the Lannister mead hall, Hodor lumbering about through some unknown dance routine completely clumsily. It was more similar to some heathen ritual the wild men north of the wall might do than any dance Jaime had ever heard of. The knight of the Kingsguard was subjected to link arms with Hodor. Again and again in patterns they danced, Hodor creating a great thud on the floor with every pound of his feet. It was the best Jaime could do not to be knocked to the floor through multiple dives, twists and flourishes that the giant led him through. He couldn't tell how many renditions of Castamere he was dragged through. It could have been five, or it could have been fifty, time seemed to stand still when he danced with Hodor. Everything else blurred around him, and it was just Jaime Lannister and the enormous stable hand, caught together in a web of raw emotion.

For Jaime, that raw emotion was a combination of complete dread and utter repulsion, but he didn't have a choice but to endure it.

Finally it all finished, Hodor dipped Jaime toward the floor in a low, elegant move, and pulled him back up again.

"Hodor," Hodor whispered.

Their faces were close enough to kiss, Hodor breathed heavily onto Jaime, the smell of steak and horse stables wafted over to Lannister. Why was the smell of stables on Hodor's breath? Surely he hadn't been eating the horse manure?

As Hodor finally let Jaime go after a tense moment of staring into each other's eyes, he decided he didn't want to know. The knight ran, as fast as he could in the golden apparel. Above all things, he needed a drink, so he started rushing in the direction of Tyrion, disregarding everyone in the hall around him.

What would everyone say? Jaime didn't want to be like Ser Loras! This wasn't his fault, Hodor had forced him into it! It wasn't fair, not fair at all.

In the Game of Thrones, you win or you die, but what happens if a giant, semi-mute dung shoveller grabs hold of you and forces you into a romantically suggestive dance with him?

Out of winning and dying, Jaime supposed it was a damn slight closer to dying.

He was nearly up to his brother, bumping through dancing nobles in the crowd, shoving anyone in front of him out his way, putting as much distance between him and Hodor as possible. He could see Tyrion, pouring a fresh glass of beer out of the keg. Cold and frosty, frothing at the top, like it was just made for Jaime to drink. Could nearly taste it, could-

"Son?" someone he'd pushed out the way blurted out, in the middle of their own dance. It was Tywin's voice, and he caught hold of Jaime before he could run away. Damn, of everyone he was storming through, he had the misfortune of it ending up as Tywin.

Now he was about to receive the scolding of his life for something that was Hodor's fault. Gods, this business was unjust.

"Yes, father?" Jaime replied nervously, aware of his father's firm frown. Old Nan – Joanna smiled beside him, but it wasn't a comfort, just eerie as usual.

"I saw you with Hodor, and, I hope you take this seriously, Jaime, I have something to say," Tywin said, with utmost sincerity. No! No! He wasn't like Ser Loras! It was Hodor's fault! Blame him! I've been lying with Cersei faithfully for years! Ask her about it! Jaime feared what his father would say now almost as much as he'd been terrified of Hodor a few minutes ago. Tywin just looked at Jaime slowly, and Jaime knew his sentence was near.

Suddenly, Tywin's intense frown turned to an elated smile. He grinned in a way Jaime had never seen him grin before. As if he'd had a triple-extreme dosage of The Milk of the Poppy. He dragged Jaime into a great, fatherly hug.

"Jaime, my boy," Tywin breathed, happy voice breaking with emotion in his ear, "you couldn't have given your new brother a better welcome." tears were on the edge of his voice "Hodor is truly a Lannister now, and part of the family. Thank you, for all your acceptance," Tywin pulled Jaime closer, saying something so low that Jaime could hardly even hear. "And your love."

Tywin released Jaime from his iron grip, still smiling happily, and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Go on, boy," Tywin encouraged. Jaime wasn't exactly sure why, but he turned away from his father and tried to run to Tyrion once more.

And was met with a brick wall.

Not a brick wall, a man; Hodor.

Hodor grabbed Jaime, and he instantly wished that he was back in Tywin's hug. The giant brought him into a suffocating embrace. He breathed on Jaime some more, and sweated onto him, and crushed him. He smelled dreadful, and Jaime suspected he hadn't had a bath since his removal from Winterfell.

By a stroke of bad luck, Jaime looked up towards Hodor's face, hoping it would be less unpleasant than his musky chest. Regret seeped over him as he witnessed Hodor's expression of endearing dedication, utter admiration, and unwavering love.

"Hodor," Hodor said, the tender adoration clear in his tone.

Well this was a nice fucking mess he'd gotten into.