A/N: A/N: *EDIT*

*sigh*

Trolls all over the comments again, you'd think they'd be gone by now...

WE LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!

Feels good to be back in the saddle again.

Sorry for vanishing, but the show murdered me and my crew. Back in 2019 we tried writing this in the wake of the finale, but we couldn't.

It just hurt too much. Every. Single. Time.

I won't call it writer's block, but for awhile there, a long while, it truly felt like it. None of us could even bring ourselves to go near anything GOT related. For a grand show like that to simply end on such a rushed note when they easily could've had more all the world-building, characters, and everything to simply be thrown away in favor of shock value... that last season...it just butchered everything.

So the team and I sat down, talked things over, and put it to a vote. Some of us were in favor, some of us were against it. Mine was the deciding vote. Seems obvious what it was.

We worked long and hard through the night to bring this to you, and we've got more updates on the way. Obviously this tale isn't going to end in a rushed way like Season Eight. We'd sooner chop off our hands than let everyone down like that. Now, I could go on and leave a big honking author's note answering questions...or I can get us back to the story. Let's go with the latter then, shall we?

As ever, I own no references, themes, or memes.

Yes, this is short, but its a way of getting the gears moving again.

Sorry that this is short, but I'm working doubles as of late with little time to rest.

Still, I hope you all enjoy this, and I look forward to reading your reviews when I get back~!

Once again, references are references and I own nothing. Zilch. Nadda. Reviews are all the payment I'll ever receive.

"With your gifts you could rule Westeros. No one would ever know it was you."

"I could. I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind once or twice in the last few years. It would be so easy to tip things into chaos, to simply burn everything out of spite. But I have a purpose here now. I have seen a thousand nights and I'll likely see a thousand more once this is through...still, I'll see this done. I promised her that much. Now I have a chance to keep that promise."

"Ah, so that's it, then. Why else come with me to this filthy city? Not simply to sell your services...no. You have a purpose here. Perhaps you are protecting something-no. Protecting someone."

...Oberyn. If you breathe a word of this to him, I'll kill you."

"Perish the thought, my friend!"

~a discussion.

Only A Cat Of A Different Coat

Someone had a dagger to his throat.

Jaime had ever been a light sleeper; as such he startled awake, eyes flying wide open the moment cold steel swept under his chin. Naturally his first instinct was to back away from the sharp metal instrument against his jugular, but some stray sixth sense -and the faintest sensation of pressure against his back- stilled the compulsion to jerk backwards to safety. To leap up with a shout, find his sword, fight back this intruder, and win the day. Instead, he had the creeping suspicion something horrible would happen if he tried to move.

It saved his life.

"Not a word, now." a man's low voice breathed in his ear, colder than ice. "Call for your guards and I'll carve a pretty red smile in your neck."

A dark figure awaited him when he opened his eyes, hooded and clad in dark leathers. Even with the moonlight pouring in through the balcony he couldn't see their face, only piercing blue eyes within a strange half-mask concealing their visage. The stranger -assassin?- tilted their head at him and the pressure against his throat intensified tenfold. Damnit. What in the seven hells was going on here?!

"They say a man can bleed out in under a minute if you slit his throat." his captor mused, tugging the blade against his skin. "Care to test that?"

...what do you want? he croaked the words through clenched teeth, fearful of even the slightest twitch.

"Want?" the young man -for this couldn't be anything other than a man- blinked at him for a moment then chuckled, apparently amused by his temerity. "For now, I want you to be keep your voice down. Can you do that? Blink once for yes, twice for no. No sudden movements."

Jaime blinked once.

Those azure orbs crinkled in what might've been a smile. "Good. Now, I'm going to step back. Don't move until I say so."

Soundlessly, he pulled the blade back and did just that, leaving the Lannister free.

"You can stand now."

Jaime rose slowly, suddenly glad he'd slept alone tonight. Cersei would've shrieked if she'd seen someone like this.

"Why are you here?" he inquired.

He spied his sword only a few feet away, resting against the foot of his bed. Had he left it there deliberately? Did he think him so little a threat without his right hand? His fingers twitched, aching to snatch the hilt. It wasn't Oathkeeper, wasn't Valyrian Steel, but surely it would do in a pinch...if he could reach it.

"Take it, if you like." the intruder gestured, his soft voice carrying through the room. "It won't make a lick of difference."

He didn't dare; and so the stranger took it for himself.

"A decent blade." he hummed, unsheathing it and sheathing it again just as swiftly. "Not the one you gave your lady knight, but a fair substitute."

"How did you-

"Its my job to know things. To know people. Jaime Lannister. Look what has become of you." those eyes narrowed as his mouth turned down in a scowl behind the mask. "You used to be stronger than this. Now you're a shell of a man hiding behind a white cloak, clinging to worn and faded glory." those blazing blue eyes flicked up and down, considering him as one might a piece of fresh meat. "I came here to talk with you, but perhaps it would be worse to leave you here, festering in your squalor." A pause followed as he gave the matter further consideration. The knife rose again. "Or perhaps I should just put you out of your misery."

"I'd rather we take the first option." Jaime answered honestly.

"Ha!" He thought he saw the Man smile beneath that ebony mask. "I'm sure you'd like that." In a single flourish he sheathed the blade and handed it to him. "Here. May you wield it better than the last. And to answer your question, I'm not here at the behest of anyone," the intruder actually deigned to sketch a shallow bow at that remark. "I merely wanted to see you again before I made my decision."

"Again?" a strange pang of uncertainty stabbed at his heart. "Have we met before?"

"In a sense." This time there could be no mistaking the smile. "More than you'd think, less than you suspect." Bugger him. That wasn't an answer at all.

"Well." he raised his arms. "Here I am. You have me at your mercy."

"So it would seem."

A beat of deadly silence pushed between the two of them.

"Thank you." the stranger broke it by bowing his head and the sudden action caused Jaime to jump. "For looking after Tyrion all these years."

Those were not the words he'd expected to hear. Curses maybe, condemnations perhaps, vengeance from the North, even. But this? Gratitude? It made no sense. Why sneak into his chambers just to deliver a message in such a fashion? It boggled the mind; didn't make a lick of sense.

...I beg your pardon?"

"You did a better job than your sister," the assassin continued amicably as he raised his head, "But that's to be expected, I suppose. Cersei was born with too much venom in her veins. I never had much hope for her. But you? Hmm." a low laugh rumbled in the air between them. "You always had potential."

Something in those words rang oddly, but try as he might, he couldn't put his finger on it. Should a stranger be saying such things? They'd never met. He'd never heard this voice before. He knew that. Understood it and accepted it in equal measure...and yet. There was something about those eyes. Something familiar. He'd seen them somewhere before. Frowning, he shook the nostalgia off like an old cloak and forced himself to take a short step forward.

"Are you going to let me go, then?" he challenged, frowned when his killer made no effort to move. "Or kill me? Which will it be?"

"..."

The Man of Many Faces glided forward and Jaime fought down a shiver as the dagger flicked out again to touch a vein in his throat. He was unprotected. Couldn't even defend himself. He could scream, shout for a guard, but what good would that do him? It wouldn't stop his death.

THUNK.

The Kingslayer flinched, but the pain never came.

He opened his eyes to find that wicked knife slammed down against wood rather than flesh.

Gloved fingers peeled away, leaving the blade's bitter edge trapped within the table, and made no move to retrieve it.

"For all your mistakes, you're a good man. You saw Aerys before you all those years ago, recognized his evil, and chose prevent it, regardless of the cost." The Man of Many faces shrugged as he stepped away, keeping one hand between them all the while. "Sometimes wicked men must die for good men to live. That's how the world works. If I had been there at the time, if I had seen what you saw, if I hadn't been blind," Something ugly flashed through those blue eyes, high and wild and so very bitter. "I'd have done the same. For that as well, I thank you."

Jaime actually blinked at that. How rare to meet someone who didn't judge him. But more than that...how did he know?

"Oh, and one last thing."

Before he could think to ask what he was up to this time, the man stepped in and grabbed his hand. Not his left, but the ruined stump that was his right wrist. Something sharp and angry pulsed through his arm and for a moment, the merest sliver of a second, Jaime thought he saw the strangers gloved palm pulse a ghastly red color. He couldn't think of any other word for it. And still, the stranger didn't release him. His hand was an iron band clamped around his wrist, firm and unyielding.

"What are you doing?" he frowned.

"Stirring the pot." A low chuckle answered him. "And keeping an old promise; something that should've been done a long time ago."

As he spoke a strange itch manifested at the base of Jaime's shoulder, a vague creeping itch that soon crawled down the length of his arm. He tried to ignore at first, thinking it no more than nerves. What was in itch when his life was in danger? And so he grit his teeth and paid it no mind.

Then there was pain.

All at once, it rushed to his wrist; a searing wave that cut deeper than any blade, burned brighter than any flame. Agony, white hot, so intense that it burned his vision black. With that, the Man of Many Faces released him and allowed him to collapse with a short cry, a sharp bark of sound that said man muffled with a gloved palm.

"Don't look." the intruder hissed in his ear. "It'll be over soon."

Jaime heard something pop in his ears, felt his wrist writhe and twist as though it had been struck with a thousand needless. The man was right on that much. He couldn't look. He dare not, for fear of what he might find there, for the faint tiny ember of hope that it sparked. Another burst of pain followed, short and sharp and sudden to blind him once more, leaving him gasping on the floor.

Against his own fear, he looked down.

His hand.

No. Impossible.

Tan and twitching, covered in blood, the fingers of his right hand awaited his gaze, spasming as sensations returned to them. With all his will he forced these trembling digits to form a fist. It took some effort, but the stiff digits obeyed him and when they did something cried out in the very depths of his soul. Hand. His hand. His right hand. He could fight again. His mind babbled at the who, what, when, where and why, until he snarled at it to be silent. This was magic. It had to be. Did it matter? Of course it did. Did he care? Not at all.

"I wonder how the people of Kings Landing will react to this," his erstwhile accomplice hummed above him, laughing softly. "You'll be the talk of the city for months on end. The man who grew back an arm overnight. With this, you'll make for an adequate distraction, and I've kept my promise to Joanna. Two birds with one stone."

Footsteps padded back towards him, and the Lannister bristled, clutching his restored limb to his chest.

Distraction? For what? And what did it have to do with his long dead mother? It was too much to take in at once and Jaime's mind spun just trying to process it all. Was this a trick? He could be lying. Twisting his words to distract him. Everyone lied in Kings Landing. And yet his deeds spoke for themselves. Normal men couldn't do this. You couldn't regrow an arm. It just wasn't possible.

"I don't understand...why...?"

"You don't need to understand." Strong arms took hold of his shoulders and hoisted the younger man to his feet. "You only need to act."

"I knew your mother, once upon a time." once again those peerless sapphire orbs turned to regard him. "She would've hated to see you like this. Be a better man, Jaime. For her sake. And stop buggering about with your sister, would you kindly? You'll find no happiness there. Use your sword arm for a proper cause this time...or you might lose it again."

"What do you want from me?!"

"I want you to be the man you were meant to be." A hand clapped him on the back and then the warrior glided past, striding into shadow. "Now, then. I wish you good fortune in the wars to come." his voice rippled in the dark as he pulled up his hood once more. "Goodbye, Son of Tywin. We will not meet again."

"Wait!"

The shadow paused.

"Who are you," he croaked. "Who are you really?"

"Only a cat of a different coat." those ice blue eyes narrowed at him in the gloom. "That's all the truth I know."

With nary a sound, his would be killer -and now savior!- flung himself over the balcony and vanished back into the dark from whence he'd come.

A/N: Feels good to be back.

And now Jaime's got his arm back through what he believes to be magical means.

Aye, this was more of a teaser than anything else, but it was something Mark and I were able to whip up while we were out on the road. This scene was one we had to leave on the cutting room floor; one because our team couldn't find a place to put the bloody thing, but also due to the aforementioned block our little group was going through. As said during the latest update for Son of the Stag, we've finally managed to push past that and here we are.

Ironically, the catalyst to that was being given Season Four as a gift. One of us got it from a friend, and, well, things took off from there.

I wouldn't even call it a group, more of a...council? Coalition? Like-minded individuals? Union? Psychopaths? Meh.

The next chapter has the real meat of the matter that I'm sure you're dying to see. We've had some heavy hints here and there, but nothing has been overtly revealed yet. My team and I are resolved to write again, if only to spite that god awful Eighth Season.

So In the Immortal Words of Altas...

...Revieeew, Would Ya Kindly?

And enjoy the preview!

You know, it makes sense that folk would think chakra to be magic; from their point of view, it certainly is. And since good 'ol Naruto retained that mark of his...why...

...he can work some impressive feats indeed.

Next time: That's All The Truth I Know.

(Previews!)

"You want to meet her. The Mother of Dragons."

"I find myself curious." Tyrion declared breezily. "They say her dragons are magnificent."

"Do you think me a fool?" Naruto clicked his tongue in mild admonishment. "You just want to get out of Westeros. Away from your family. Away from Cersei."

"For the time being, yes." caught in a lie, the dwarf drained his flagon and leaned back in his chair. "Can you blame me? Then again, I'm not the one running across rooftops at night working magic."

"Hmm." The Man of Man Faces didn't wince respond to the jab; instead he merely drummed his fingers against the table. And as he did, a slow smile spread across his face. "You know, I've never seen a dragon before...

"Neither have I." Aha! He knew that smile. The man was starting to warm to the idea, Tyrion just knew it. He just needed a push. A nudge. A reason to accept. "She'd be a fool to turn us away. We have Oberyn's backing already. And with you skills...well." he sipped fro his cup again. "I dare say she'd be very interested in you. Need I say more?"

"I'm not above taking her over my knee if she's a brat."

Tyrion coughed harshly on his wine.

"Please don't do that."

R&R~!

=D