Everything that had just happened seemed to occur in the blink of an eye, yet every moment was etched with deadly precision. Jaime Lannister, intent on striking Carl Stone, thrust his gilded longsword toward the younger man's neck. But before the blade could meet its mark, Carl intercepted it with a simple dagger.
The screeching clash echoed through the ruined tower as the two weapons collided. The sound, sharp and piercing, was the result of steel dragging across steel. Jaime, momentarily startled, took a step back, his eyes widening at the sight of the dagger.
Though unadorned, the blade glimmered with faint, rippling patterns along its surface. Jaime immediately recognized it: a dagger of fine Valyrian steel with a dragonbone handle, a gift from Robert Baratheon to Carl after his trial by combat victory. A strange sense of déjà vu washed over Jaime as he stared at it, as if fate itself had guided this encounter.
But Carl did not give him the luxury of distraction. Without hesitation, he raised his heavy boot and drove it into Jaime's chest. The force was brutal. Jaime flew backward, crashing against the stone wall of the ruined tower. Pain exploded through his chest, his breath trapped as he coughed up a mouthful of blood. The gilded longsword slipped from his grasp, skidding across broken stones before coming to rest between the two men.
Gasping, Jaime leaned against the wall, his eyes rolling back as his body twitched involuntarily. Gradually, he managed to draw a deep breath, expelling the air that had been trapped in his lungs. Blood painted his white teeth red as he tried to rise, but his body rebelled against him.
Carl stepped forward, his voice calm yet commanding.
"Surrender," he said. "You shouldn't die at my hands, Jaime. I don't want my best friend to hate me for killing his brother. I know you're the only one who still cares about your dwarf brother."
Jaime's response was a bitter smile, faintly visible through the crimson staining his lips.
"Tyrion wouldn't think that way," he whispered. Despite his injuries, his mind remained sharp. "He possesses wisdom far beyond our reach." His gaze became unfocused for a moment, lost in thought. "But if you fear he won't believe you, you can tell him… Tessa isn't his sister. She truly loves him!"
Carl's eyes flickered at the mention. He had heard this story before, recounted drunkenly by Tyrion to a dark-haired prostitute. "The only difference," Carl muttered, "is that he paid a golden dragon for the lie."
"That wasn't a lie," Jaime admitted, his voice strained. "In fact… I lied to him."
Pain flickered across Jaime's face, both physical and emotional.
"Why bother?" Carl asked, though he already knew the answer.
"I don't know…" Jaime murmured. Some questions simply had no answers. The chain of mistakes was too long, the damage too great.
"But if you tell him the truth, Tyrion will believe you. And if he doubts it, he can ask his father for confirmation," Jaime said. Carl could only shake his head, sighing at the complexity of the man before him.
"Then go. You have enough time to say goodbye to Tyrion," Carl suggested, hoping for a final resolution.
Jaime shook his head firmly. "No. Everything ends here, today!" With a surge of strength, he leaped toward the fallen gilded sword and seized it once more, charging at Carl.
Carl grabbed Jaime's right hand, taking control of the sword. Jaime's attacks, now chaotic and desperate, were no match for Carl's precision. The Kingslayer's left hand reached for his dagger, but Carl was ready. With a crushing grip, Carl twisted Jaime's hand, breaking bones in his palm and forcing him to release the sword.
Screaming in agony, Jaime fell to his knees. Carl did not relent. Switching the longsword to his other hand, he seized Jaime by the collar and dragged him to the stone wall. Carl glanced at the rough surface and, without hesitation, tossed Jaime into a corner near where Cersei was hiding.
Ignoring the trembling queen, Carl drew the dragonbone-handled dagger from his waist. With precise aim, he drove the blade into the gap between Jaime's ulna and radius, piercing the arm with ease. The Valyrian steel sank deep, embedding itself in the stone behind him. Jaime's body went rigid, pinned to the wall.
"Stay put," Carl ordered, standing upright. He glanced at the mass of Stark soldiers gathering outside the tower—at least a hundred in grey wool, obedient to Jon Snow's command. Carl allowed himself a small smile. The boy had not been foolish.
Suddenly, a muffled cry drew Carl's attention. Cersei, tears streaming down her face, struggled to free the dagger from Jaime's arm. Her frailty contrasted sharply with her fierce determination.
"No need to waste your energy, Cersei," Carl said calmly.
She ignored him. "I must save him! If we survive, Robert won't dare harm us. Father will protect us, and we still have a chance!" Cersei's voice trembled, recounting every preparation she had made, every hope she had clung to.
In that moment, Jaime's gaze softened. Cersei, for the first time, had abandoned her ambitions. She no longer sought power or title; she only wished to be with him. His lips curved into a gentle smile as he reached out with his left hand to brush her tears away.
"Okay, I promise… but could you hand me my sword?"
Cersei, sobbing, obeyed and handed him the gilded longsword. Carl frowned, confused at Jaime's intent. But he quickly realized the truth. With a swift, decisive swing, Jaime severed his own pinned right hand at the elbow. The pain was blinding, but his face remained calm, even smiling weakly at Cersei.
"Cersei, my love," he whispered, ignoring the blood flowing freely from his arm, "we will always be together."
He embraced her tightly, a reunion of souls that had weathered storms beyond reckoning. "I will love you forever—forever!" His words were tender, whispered into her ear, carrying the weight of everything they had endured.
Unseen by Cersei, Jaime reached for her neck, protective yet tender. At that instant, footsteps echoed from the tower stairs. A shout followed:
"Sir Carl Stoney! We're here!"
Relief and urgency mingled in the air. Reinforcements had arrived. The tide of fate was shifting, yet the scars of this battle—physical and emotional—would linger forever.
Jaime Lannister had lost an arm, and Cersei had confronted the stark reality of her choices. But in the chaos, amidst blood and iron, love had survived—a fragile, defiant flame against the darkness that threatened to consume them all.
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