m_findlow | Game of Thrones: Fanfic: Empty pages

Title: Empty pages
Fandom: Game of Thrones
Characters: Jaime Lannister
Author: m_findlow
Rating: PG
Length: 687 words
Content notes: none
Author notes: Written for m_findlow's prompt "Game of Thrones, Jaime, golden hand" at fic_promptly
Summary: Jaime's hand is proving a hindrance and an eye opener

He opened up the White Book and stared at the page. Within the heavy volume were the great deeds of every knight who had ever served the Kingsguard, and now it was his responsibility to fill those pages with the deeds of his own Kingsguard.

He looked down at his golden hand and laughed. A gift from Cersei. He would have preferred she give him a golden cunt as gift, but even she saw that he was no longer the man he'd once been. His father had perhaps been right that he was unfit to serve as Kingsguard, let alone their Lord Commander. He'd have Jaime scuttle back to Casterly Rock, and give up whatever title he had so that he could attend to the important duty of furthering the family line. He'd done that already, whether his father chose to believe the rumors or not. He didn't want a wife and children, to rot away as a crippled Lord of his own kingdom. He only had to look at Doran Martell to see how glorious that life would be.

The sword hanging on the wall next to his cloak caught his eye. He pictured the sword within the scabbard, glinting red and black. A gift from his father. Ned Stark had lopped off heads and found glory in its former incarnation, but Jaime was unlikely ever to bloody it. How his family adored irony, showering him in useless gifts. He would never be the swordsman he'd been before. A golden hand couldn't wield a sword. He couldn't even cut his dinner with it. His left hand might hold a sword, but it could never match the skill a lifetime of practice had given to his right hand. What use was a knight of the Kingsguard if he couldn't protect his king?

He flipped another page in the book. Ser Meryn Trant. Longest serving member of the current Kingsguard after Jaime himself, yet he didn't trust Ser Meryn one bit. He was in Cersei's pocket, he was certain of it, and a thoroughly unpleasant man. He looked across at the ink pot and quill and laughed again. Forget sword fighting, he couldn't even pick up a quill and write! Yet something else for his left hand to have to learn. He wouldn't have it said that the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard didn't know his letters, forced to dictate to some untrustworthy scribe, who would no doubt later sing the words in Varys' ear.

It was probably a good thing that he couldn't write. Had he been able to, he might have inked the words "traitorous wretch" on Ser Meryn's page. He flipped the page again. Ser Boros Blount: traitorous wretch. Ser Sandor Clegane: traitorous wretch. Ser Osmund Kettleblack: traitorous wretch. Was there anyone Jaime could trust to protect his king? His son? At least The Hound had the good sense to make himself disappear. There was a reason why only knights were ever promoted to the Kingsguard.

He turned back to his own page. What would he have written for himself if he'd had the ability? What great deeds would fill his page? Captured by Robb Stark; held hostage by his Lady mother; sent packing back to King's Landing with a woman for a guard; losing his hand, not in battle, but by that worthless rat Vargo Hoat, and finally returning with his tail between his legs, just in time to see his King murdered at his own wedding. Each word was even more damaging that anything already written on that page. Kingslayer was one of his better attributes when you looked at everything together.

Suddenly angry, he ripped off the buckles that held his hand in place and threw it across the room. He should have thrown it out of the tower window. They should have cast him all in gold for all the use he was now, but he wouldn't reneg on the vow he'd made his father that he would not give up his place in the Kingsguard. With traitors everywhere he turned, Tommen would need him now more than ever.