[ Again and again, Jaime thinks this must be another haunting dream, but when he looks down at the golden trinket in the place of his right hand, he knows it must be real. In my dreams, I always have my sword hand. Unlike his other visions, no familiar ghost visits him in his chambers, either. Not Cersei, not his mother, not even Brienne. This strange world is all that remains.

As soon as he hears of the stasis hall, he ventures there. He walks for a time, perhaps an hour or longer, until he spies a familiar face. Even veiled by glass, the man makes Jaime stand straighter, chin tipped up in defiance. In death, Lord Tywin Lannister had gained a peculiar smile — and a smell fouler than the sewers of King’s Landing.

In stasis, his mouth is a flat line. If anything, it curls downward at the corners. Disappointed. ]

Did Lady Genna’s prattle breathe life into you?

[ Tyrion is Tywin’s son, not you, she had said. Or perhaps it was Jaime’s performance in the Riverlands (losing the Blackfish) that warmed his flesh. It would be like his father to return out of spite.

The thought makes Jaime’s mouth twitch, very nearly amused. ]

[ For the first time in years, Jaime can wander and see no trace of his family. No bones beside dirt roads or charred crops in the Riverlands, no furtive glances at him as he passes by, no gaggle of squires skittering after him, cloaked in Lannister crimson and gold. The only familiar sight is his own image, reflected in the dark walls. He’s a man out of time in his leather jerkin, sword secure at his side. At least he had the sense to forgo his armour and white cloak, so as not to attract more attention.

In one of the public kitchens, he leans against the countertop, staring at an overturned mixing bowl. Oddly enough, his good hand presses down on the bowl, as if it might run away. Sharp-eyed refugees will notice the laces of his jerkin are singed, and his “nothing-to-see-here” smile is too tight. ]

a. [ feigning neutrality. ] Have you lost your way?

[ someone save the poor slime trapped in a bowl-prison!! ]

b. [ The bowl moves, a slight shift to the side, and Jaime reacts instinctively, clamping his right hand down on it. Only his right hand is a clunky, golden thing, only succeeding in causing a clatter and a jolt of pain up his arm. To his credit, Jaime only winces and curses.

However, his distraction provides the opportunity for a red slime to squeeze out from under the bowl and rush across the counter. ]

Seven hells.

[ That’s right, folks. Jaime Lannister — most fearsome knight in the Seven Kingdoms, commander of men, armies, and the Kingsguard — is having trouble containing a pest. ]

●●●●○ THESA

Jaime Lannister
@jaime (34), Westeros

CONTACT

IGNORE

I WAS A: I am a knight of the Kingsguard until my death.

I'M SKILLED IN: Fighting.

I'M LOOKING FOR: King Tommen, Princess Myrcella, Ser Sandor Clegane, and Lady Brienne of Tarth.

ALSO, I'M: Thirsty. Where do you keep the wine on this bucket?

[ anything goes! catch jaime brooding alone over dinner, knocking over his wine with his golden hand, dicking about in the mecha cockpit, whatever works. ]