The Winter Wolf (Jason Wynter)

[Ser Jaime Lannister]

Jaime stared up at the beautiful face above him, hair a beautiful gold, eyes like two brilliant emeralds. Someone who knew his sister less would say it was Cersei, but the smile betrayed her. The woman above him had a sweet smile, innocent, happy. Everytime he remembered his sister smiling recently, had been due to some sort of cruelty. This woman was like his twin, his other half, but joyous, happy, her eyes and lips full of youthful enthusiasm. She leaned down, giving the Kingslayer a sweet kiss. Jaime moved to wrap his arms around her, when he felt himself being pulled away. He turned to see the Stark boy, half man, half wolf, pulling a chain. Jaime's eyes followed the chain, and found it linking up to a collar on his neck, thick and cold against his shoulder. He wanted to draw his sword, slay the wolf, but every time he reached for his blade, he found nothing... he watched as he was pulled from his Cersei, and he could do nothing...

Jaime awoke with a start, covered in sweat. The darkness of the cell had become what he was used to. He reached a hand up, rubbing his cheeks. He felt the dirty, unkempt beard, traced his fingers along his scars, ugly and inflamed. He pulled a strand of hair in front of his eyes and studied it. What had once been a beautiful yellow like spun gold was now a putrid brown, that would look more at home in a swamp than on the head of a Lannister. His heart, his mind, his body, all yearned, ached for Cersei, for his sister. He and her had agreed that the longer they spent away from each other, the worse they were, Jaime couldn't disagree. He was made aware he was going to have visitors by the approaching torch light, the orange glow bouncing along the walls, casting long, dark shadows. Jaime watched as a guard came into view, along with a man he didn't recognize. For a moment he hoped beyond hope his sister had sent someone to rescue him. He still held out hope help would come, but as the days went on, he grew anxious. What if something happened to her?

His heart sank when he spotted the arms of the man. A red wolf's head, turned up in a howl. House Wynter. He'd seen the arms at tournaments and melees. They'd been good, especially for a northern house. He had wanted to face them at the time, now the sight of the red wolf was more painful than any weapon. It was a boy, there, wearing the sigil. He'd remembered an older man, but it wasn't his place to remember the Northern lords. He didn't need to have another lord gloating over him now, not after that dream. He had bad dreams, of course he did, but most of those were terrifying visions of the Mad King, not dreams that made him more sad than anything. He would have made a jape, but he was still shaken by the dream.

"What do you want from the Kingslayer?"

Jason Wynter

[Jason Wynter]

The dank staircase twisted downwards as the boy descended, flanked by two armed guards, it seemed as if the dark, depressing walls that hung suffocatingly on either side of Lord Wynter were leeches of a sort, sucking the very life out of his weakened body, leaving him feeling empty, as if whatever he used to be had been cast aside, leaving only a dark, shadowy void. Then again, that's how he had been feeling ever since the battle, he was here to end it. 
Jason was dressed for combat, wearing everything but his full helm, the Knight would see his face, he was not hiding anything. The boy had also left Weirbone in his tent, and had come unarmed, he didn't trust himself any other way.
The newly made Lord's was covered with half healed cuts and bruises from the battle, Jason had not shaved his face since the Whispering Wood, and the dark shadow of a beard he usually wore had grown out to cover his face with a thick coat. Dried blood still marked his armor, he had refused his men's offer to clean it. The Kingslayer would see the blood of the Westerlands, and would then know that marching on the North came with a price.

The small party walked slowly across the hall, grim faces lit by the dim torchlight, after crossing a few doors, the dungeon keeper came to a halt, this was where he was being held. The man beside the door reached for the keys on his belt and unlocked the door, opening it. The Lord turned to the three men with a cold face and uttered two words "Leave us." 
The cell room smelled terrible, yet Jason payed it no heed, he walked straight for the crumpled figure in the back of the room, icy eyes unmoving.
He took a deep breath, studying the man before him. The great Kingslayer, arguably the finest fighter in all of Westeros, reduced to nothing before him, the thought brought the boy joy, and that scared him, what had he become?

Lord Wynter began to speak, his voice stoic and cold, showing no emotion, yet surprisingly distant, as if he were speaking from far away. "You say that name as if you're proud of it, Ser Jamie." He paused for a moment, then continued "You probably don't know who I am, my name is Jason Wynter." He paused once again, remembering he now owned a title "Lord Jason Wynter, I am the son of Lord Edric Wynter, you may have heard of him. A better man than you can ever hope to be." The young Lord could feel the anger rising within him, he had to control it. With a deep breath, he continued. "I am here, in this filthy hellhole that houses you, because my father was killed in the Battle of the Whispering Wood, and I think you and I both know who did it." Jason raised a boot to kick over the Kingslayer's chamber pot, spilling it's contents all over the floor, he would then crouch by Jamie, leaning in so that their faces were inches apart, hatred burned in his eyes as he could no longer contain himself, his voice loud, full of malice and poison. "You killed my father, didn't you?! Confess!"

The boy reached his hand to his belt, grasping for a sword hilt that wasn't there.


Ser Jaime Lannister

[Ser Jaime Lannister]

"Why shouldn't I be proud? I did what Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark wished they could have done. If I wasn't a Kingslayer, who knows how many more innocents would die?" Jaime knew. Thousands. He wanted to tell this boy, see his face when he realized the Kingslayer didn't just kill the Mad King for fun. When he realized the just and noble Eddard Stark would have let several thousand people burn in the name of his precious honor. This newly appointed Lord of Wynter. Jaime didn't move, letting the man get angry, and shout. If Jaime had his sword, if he had anything, he'd stop him, but the boy hadn't brought his sword with him. Jaime could have disarmed him, killed him, escaped. But, no.

"I've killed quite a lot of people who were better men than I could ever hope to be, I don't make a habit of remembering every Northerner I kill. It's funny how all these better men are all dead, while I, the dishonorable, monstrous Jaime Lannister, am still alive." Jaime saw the Lord Wynter reaching for a sword he didn't have. It seemed that cool, collected wall he'd built had fallen, leaving only a little boy to rage. A little boy that had lost his father. Jaime felt bad, for one moment, but that faded soon enough.

"Your father was a fool. The smart men stayed at the back of the battle, away from me. They're still alive, the foolish ones, the ones chasing glory, those were the ones that were killed. This Edric Wynter measured his life, you, his family, his lands, and decided to risk all of that for a bit more glory, the possibility of being the one that killed the Kingslayer, and because of that, he's dead. Don't worry, though. Now you're a Lord, and you get to be a Lord until my father marches on your King of the North, and wipes out every single one of you."

Jason Wynter

[Jason Wynter]

Jason rose from his position as the man began to speak, a gleam of curiosity in his eye as the Kingslayer released a detail about the incident that brought him the very name, interesting, maybe this man deserved more credit than what he received, or, maybe he was a liar, that seemed like the more likely situation. Thinking on this, Jason turned away from the man linked up in chains, listening silently as he commented on a man he hardly knew, about a death he had never seen. Waiting for the man to finish, Jason paced alongside the putrid cell, leaning back onto a wall, and facing the Knight of the Kingsguard with his arms crossed, his face once more as still as a cold night on the Wall.


Jamie didn't know who killed Lord Wynter, that was now evident. Jason hadn't gotten what he had wished for here, but he could still press this on, maybe even find out about what had happened in King's Landing that long ago, his father had refused to share the events of that day with him, but he had a feeling the Kingslayer knew more than his father ever did. As the man finished up his condescending speech, Jason spoke up once more, the anger in his voice fading back to make room for reason, dishonorable as he was, the Kingslayer was a smart man, he could not simply rant to him, he had to banish that part of himself, the vulnerable, pained child, that was not a side you wanted to show the enemy.

"You speak of a man you hardly knew with such certainty, Lannister, as I said, my father was a better man than you ever were, of course you would think him a fool to fight on the front lines, that's typical of you, a coward that hides behind a mask of strength,  seems like that's part of your family name. You wouldn't understand why he did what he did, you're a southeron, by the gods, you're worse, you're a Lannister." 
Jason rose from the wall, arms still crossed, his tone became more relaxed as he calmed himself, if he played his cards right, he would find out exactly what happened on that day, his father's death would not be found here, but something else entirely might be.


"My father fought for his family, not for titles or glory or an opportunity to kill , I realize your petty mind has a problem with understanding that, he fought for the North, for our way of life and our honor, and he died for the very same. But do not worry, I intend to be Lord far after you're gone, and your father breaks his armies and his fortune trying to defend the castle of lies he had built up."


And now for the moment of truth.

"In fact, I don't see how you could keep up with this yourself anymore, you are dishonorable filth, how could you live with yourself? You have no repenting qualities or deeds, not one. It is because of men like you that Westeros stands today as it is."


Ser Jaime Lannister

[Ser Jaime Lannister]

Jaime shrugged faintly, his face a mask covering up his emotions. "I'm dishonorable filth, yet I keep killing all the men better than I'll ever be. I must be doing something right. And you're right. You're absolutely right, it's because of me that Westeros stands as it does today. Because, were it not for me, Westeros wouldn't stand at all. It wouldn't matter who was a good man when all the men have turned to ashes, now would it?" Jaime stood up, growing angrier. "You northerner stay up in your frozen fucking wastes, with your tree gods, talking to each other about how much better you are compared to the southerners, but the truth is, you're just as bad."

If this boy, this Lord Wynter, had had a sword, Jaime would have taken it and killed the boy. He wanted to. Show him why it was that men feared the Kingslayer. It wasn't because he could say vicious things in a prison cell, it was because he could kill almost any man from Highgarden to Asshai. Even bare handed, he could slaughter this boy. Or at least, he could have, when he wasn't half starved and covered in shit. Jaime missed hot food, Jaime missed baths, he missed his sword, his armor, but most of all, he missed Cersei.

Jaime let out a sigh, and stumbled back from the boy. "You know, they haven't told me what's been happening out there. I don't know what's happened to Tyrion, or Joff, or... I don't even know if Cersei's alive anymore. Does that sound like a good and just king, boy?"

Jason Wynter