1. Night One

He didn't remember the walls around the Iron Door being so tall. Perhaps because never before had he crossed them with such a high probability of never going through them alive again. A cart passed by his side and splashed him with mud. The men guarding the merchandise didn't even give him an apologetic glance.

He enjoyed the anonymity. For all those men he was no more than a foreigner, surely only an outsider, a merchant coming from Essos to trade.

Just a few things had changed since the last time he was there. The tower, destroyed by the fire at the King's Landing siege had been rebuilt and the main road was recently paved. Besides that, just the three headed dragon banners showed any significant difference. Life in Westeros was as unaltered with his presence as it was before with his absence.

His hair was cut short, and the silver, slowly but surely, made its way between the gold that colored it. The cloak hid the stump at his right arm. And surely he had never been so far from feeling like The Lion of Lannister. He still was Jaime, a little merchant from Pentos, who was happy with a simple life, far away from the game of thrones.

But the damn game had demanded his participation and he could no longer refuse that last game, even knowing in advance that he had no chance of winning.

Recovering his mocking smile, he wondered how much damage he would do to the men in charge of his chase – that he was there, knocking at the door and voluntary giving himself up. For a long time he stood still in front of a guard who was watching the entrance. Purely out of arrogance, he chose the fiercest one. The man looked at him, angrier by his insolence than by the menace he could become.

Still, he had enough time to turn around, take the first ship available and get back home. The man tightened his sword's hilt and glanced at him with a threatening gesture. Jaime just had to look away, step back and disappear.

Even at that moment he could do go home, facing no further consequences...

"I want to see your Queen, boy." It sounded more like an order than a request.

After all, he was still a Lannister, and a Lannisters never begged or requested. Lannisters direct and lead.

He was the one making the decision; he had chosen the time and the place to face the Targaryen woman. Silly, but that idea made him feels satisfied.

To his surprise the guardsman took all that with hilarity. He called out his partner and pointed out at Jaime before bowing to him so dramatically that his sword scratched the floor. "Hey, Gion! Ser Begger asks for an audience with the Queen. Surely she will be wearing her best dress to take dinner with him, don't you think?"

Gion joined his partner's laugh and just for a moment both forgot Jaime. He crossed his arms, clearly showing his stump. The men stopped laughing and Jaime started to smile.

"I dare to say she has spent the last years of her life waiting for me. But if you don't believe me, just tell her that Jaime Lannister is here. I wouldn't be surprised if she herself comes to welcome me, as soon as she knows the Kingslayer wants to send his regards."

With no more laughing, both men took their swords quickly and aimed at him, suddenly deeming him a real threat. They studied him slowly: golden hair, green eyes, a stump on his right arm, cocky smile. Who else, besides the Kingslayer, could fit that description?

He continued smiling.

In the end —and his pride was mortally wounded because of that— the queen didn't show up to meet him. However, she made him feel welcome in many other ways. She sent him to a cell at the highest point of the reconstructed tower, a hard cot cover with straw, with a blanket, old but clean; bread, salad, meat and fresh water. It wasn't bad; he'd stayed at more humble inns on his way to the North.

And the climax of kindness: just a chain on his ankle. He could walk around his cell from corner to corner. Knowing his legs would be well exercised when his head fell off was reassuring. All that was a real improvement compared to his previous captivities. He couldn't complain, he even had a tiny window looking to the harbor. Thanks to the window, he found comfort imagining that if he tried very hard, he would see what was happening on the other side of the sea.

At the end of the day her Grace didn't honor him with her presence, nor did his brother Tyrion. Maybe they thought it necessary to break his will with uncertainty first. He would have liked to tell them they were losing their time because his will had never been stronger, and he had no doubts. He was sure his surrender itself was a death sentence, and he was ready to face it.

That was the right thing to do, he thought, looking to the sea illuminated by the last daylight. Perhaps that was the most honorable and noble deed he had ever done; nevertheless, it was also the most painful. When the dark of his first night covered him, so too did a great loneliness.

He would save the most precious thing he ever had, even if that meant losing it for him.