Her chest burned.

Jaime had never known there could be such pain. The wounds she had got from mistakes during training were nothing. Even the agony of childbirth was overshadowed, as there was no end in sight, no reward to come, simply constant, throbbing pain. Sometimes, unbidden, old prayers bubbled from her lips, prayers she learned as a girl and never thought of since. Sometimes she even wept, until she heard the Mummers laughing, so she made her eyes go dry and her heart go dead.

After the second time she fell from the saddle, they bound her tight to Brien and made them share a horse again. One day they bound them face-to-face, forcing Jaime's legs awkwardly over his. 

"The lovers," Shagwell the fool sighed loudly. "And what a lovely sight they are. 'Twould be cruel to separate the good knight and his lady," Then he laughed that shrill laugh of his. "Ah, but which one is the knight and which one is the lady?"

If I had a sword, you'd learn that matters little. Her right eye was swollen shut, her legs were numb from the ropes and there was nothing to repair her dress where the fool had ripped it open, but none of that mattered. She was beyond caring who saw her at that point, as her world shrunk to the throb of agony in her chest, and Brien pressed against her. He was warm, at least, though his breath was as foul as her own.

Jaime slipped in and out of consciousness. Her throat was so raw that she could not eat, but she drank wine or water when they gave it to her. Once they handed her a cup and she quaffed it straight away, trembling, and the Brave Companions burst into laughter. 

"That's horse piss you're drinking, Kingslayer," Jaime was so thirsty she ignored them and drank it anyway, but retched it all back up. They made Brien wash the vomit off her dress.

One morning when she was feeling slightly stronger, a madness took hold of her and she reached for the Dornishman's sword and wrenched it from its scabbard, the movement violently stretching the hardly healing wound and making her stagger in agony. Let them kill me, so long as I die fighting, a blade in hand. But it was no good. Shagwell came hopping from leg to leg, dancing nimbly aside when Jaime slashed at him. It felt like her body itself was being ripped open every time she moved. She staggered forward with a cry of pain, clutching her chest with her left hand and hacking wildly at the fool with her right, but Shagwell spun and ducked and darted until all the Mummers were laughing at Jaime's futile efforts. When she tripped and stumbled to her knees, the fool leapt in, grabbed her hair and planted a long, wet kiss on her lips that made her spit in revulsion. Rorge finally kicked the sword away as she tried to bring it up. 

"That wath amuthing, Kingthlayer," Hoat said. "But if you try it again, I thall take your other breatht, or perhapth a hand,"

Jaime lay on her back afterward, staring at the night sky, trying not to feel the pain that snaked up her every time she twitched or breathed. The moon was a graceful crescent, and it seemed as though she had never seen so many stars. How can such a night be so beautiful? 

"Jaime," Brien whispered. "Jaime, what are you doing?"

"Dying," She whispered back, half-serious. She didn't want to die, of course, she wanted to get back to her children, her family... but dying would be so much easier. 

"No," He said. "No, you must live," She wanted to laugh. 

"Stop telling me what do, boy. I'll die if it pleases me,"

"Are you so craven?"

The word shocked her. No one had ever called Jaime craven. Knights normally lumped cravens and women into the same worthless category. Other things they called her, yes; whore, liar, murderess, Kingslayer. They said she was cruel, treacherous, mad. A weak woman led by her desires. But never craven. Craven implied they expected more. 

"What would you have me do, then?"

"Live," He said. "Live, and fight, and take revenge," But he spoke too loudly. Rorge heard his voice, if not his words, and came over to kick him, shouting at him to hold his tongue if he wanted to keep it.

Craven, Jaime thought, as Brien fought to stifle his groans.

The boy had the right of it. She could not die. Her children surely loathed her by now, but she couldn't die without seeing them again. Tyrion, Father... Cersen. And her enemies were waiting too; the Young Wolf, Edmure Tully who had kept her in chains, these Brave Companions.

When morning came, she made herself eat, and again at evenfall, and the next day. Live, she told herself harshly, when the mush, meant for the horses, was like to gag her. Orryn and Helia, Arthur, Myrcella, Steffon, Roanna and Argella. Live for vengeance. A Lannister always pays their debts. Her children's names became a prayer, as the missing breast she had nursed them at throbbed and burned and stank. One day I'll rip out Vargo Hoat's throat with my bare hands. At least he hadn't taken her hands. Her right hand was what separated her from all those other women, ladies, whores. With a blade in hand, no one could best her. There would be no living for her if it was gone. 

The days and nights blurred together in a haze of pain. Brien was always bound beside her to a tree at night, not saying a word. The boy has built a fortress inside himself. Good, it works. They will rape me soon enough, but behind my walls they cannot touch me. But Jaime's walls were weakened. They had taken half of what made her a woman, mutilated her in a way designed for one of her sex. She still had her sword hand, though. She still had her pride.

One day, she heard Urswyck say something about Harrenhal, and remembered that was their destination. That made her laugh aloud, which made Timeon slash her face with a long whip. The cut bled, another scar, but beside her chest she scarcely felt it. 

"Why did you laugh?" Brien asked her that night.

"Harrenhal was where it all began," She whispered. "Whent's great tourney. He wanted to show us all his big castle and his fine sons. I wanted to show them too. I was only fifteen, a stupid little girl...if only she could see me now," She laughed again, and they heard. That night it was Jaime who got the kicks and punches. She hardly felt them, until Rorge slammed a boot into her chest, and then she fainted.

It was the next night when they finally came, three of the worst; Shagwell, noseless Rorge, and Zollo. They were arguing about who would go first as they approached. They will leave me a cripple inside, where it does not show. 

"Boy," She whispered as Zollo and Rorge cursed one another. "Let them have what they want. You go far away. Don't try and fight, for gods sake. I want this over quickly, you'll only make it worse,"

"I can't just sit here and watch," He whispered back, defiant. Stupid stubborn brave fool. He was going to get himself killed. And what do I care if he does?

"Let them do it, and go away inside. I know I will," That was what she'd done, whenever she was witness to Aerys' cruelties. "Please," She resorted, teeth gritted. It's as if it's going to be harder for him than for me. "If you fight, you'll die, and they'll only come back the next night and do it again," But Rorge had won the argument by then. Jaime had time to say "Shut your eyes," but then he was beside them.

"They say you're the most beautiful woman in Westeros," He said. "All I see is a filthy old whore with one tit, but don't think I can't make you uglier. You want a nose like mine? Fight me, and you'll get one. And two eyes, that's too many. One scream out o' you, and I'll pop one out and make you eat it, and then I'll pull your fucking teeth out one by one,"

"Oh, do it, Rorge," Shagwell cackled. "Without her teeth, she'll almost look just like my dear old mother. And I always wanted to fuck my mother up the arse,"

"There's a funny fool," Jaime said with a smile. She felt sick. She could scream, but she wouldn't put it past this one to do exactly what he'd threatened before Hoat arrived, and leave her alive afterwards too. A toothless, one-eyed, one-breasted old whore? Sounds like a bad joke. She had told Brien before that she'd make them kill her sooner than let herself be raped, but when it came to it, she found she couldn't die without seeing her children again. Orryn and Helia, Arthur, Myrcella, Steffon, Roanna and Argella.

As they untied her from the tree, she gave Brien one last sharp look. Horrified, innocent sapphire blue eyes met hers - they were what nearly made her break - and Jaime prayed he did as he was told.

Her dress was already ruined, ripped down the middle by Shagwell the day they were captured. They seemed to have learned from the other night not to touch her chest - of course they wanted her conscious through this, they probably got hard by seeing the pain they caused - but that didn't mean every tiny twist of her body wasn't agony. Rorge grabbed her from where she sat against the tree, shoving her onto her back. Roots and stones dug into her skin as he tried to wrench her legs apart, but she clamped them firmly shut. She knew she should just let them get it over with, but Jaime was unable to simply lie back and take it.

He won eventually, of course, backhanding her across the face and yanking her breeches away. As he roughly took her, to the jeers and laughter of the other two, she tried to go away inside. Pain, humiliation, fear, anger and rough, grasping hands. It was worse than Robert, worse than anything, she wanted nothing more than to rip his throat out with her own teeth. She bit back the urge to scream, to fight and make him kill her, by reciting her own prayer of her children's names. Any bastard that came of this encounter, Jaime swore viciously to herself, she would kill in the womb the second she had the chance. She gritted her teeth, refusing to make a sound, refusing to let them enjoy it. 

Stop. Stop, you're hurting me. The memory came unbidden to her mind. But she was not Rhaella. Jaime knew begging would make no difference. I swore to myself then that I would never let a man take their pleasure of me through force, that I would die before that happened. What would that brave girl think of her now, being forcibly taken on the forest floor, with mud, blood and wet leaves in her hair?

By the time Zollo took over, Brien was clearly forgetting what she'd told him, protesting and struggling furiously against his bindings. This earned him a brutal blow to the head from Rorge that left him dazed and groaning, slumped against the tree. Jaime thought of how the boy had hated her before; now she was a helpless woman on her back in the dirt, rather than a sharp-tongued bitch with a sword, he was ready to kill himself to save her. 

She sneered, sitting up slightly to give him a warning look before she was shoved back down again, but in her head she could recognise that she did him a disservice. Jaime doubted that the reason why he was so angered by this she had been turned into a damsel in distress who needed rescue. He was brave, she had to give him that. Too good for this world.

Shagwell was the last and the worst, taunting and mocking and vile, his hands running all over her, pretending as if she was enjoying it. I'll kill you piece by piece, and feed you to the dogs, she swore, going over the graphic images in her head, exactly how she'd do it, how she'd drag it out, how she'd make him scream for a mercy she wouldn't give. Jaime had never been so furious, so humiliated. She had never wanted anyone dead more. 

But then it was over. They tied her up again beside Brien, having offered him a turn as she had predicted. The look he had given them at that made Jaime laugh rather hysterically, earning herself another blow to the face.

Once they had gone, she said nothing. She could tell Brien was struggling for words, but she ignored him, staring resolutely into the darkness, slumped against the tree. Somehow the fact he had seen it all made it so much worse.

"Jaime," He reached out a hand for her slightly, perhaps to check she hadn't passed out, and to her anger and embarrassment, she flinched away instinctively. 

She might as well have struck him, from the horror on his face. Absurdly, the look in Brien's blue eyes made her want to cry. Get over yourself, woman.

"If you tell a soul of that," She swore, hating the way her voice shook slightly. "I'll say you joined in, then kill you myself," No one would know of this, of that she was certain. The idea of her sons and daughters hearing that their mother had been violated by three savages, and that she had largely let them do it, was unthinkable. The idea of her father and Cersen finding out was worse. 

She spent the night against the tree, sore and aching and shaking with rage, having wrapped the tatters of her dress around herself as best she could, her breeches left out of reach. She didn't sleep, couldn't sleep, and by morning a crowd of men had gathered, jeering at where the rags barely covered her. Hoat, however, had been furious.

"Thee'th not to be touched," The goat screamed, spraying spittle. Too late. "Thee is my hothtage," From then on, every night Hoat put guards on them, to protect them from his own.

"Jaime?" The boy had been silent until they were bound together on the plow horse - front to front again, unfortunately - perhaps due to guilt or awkwardness, most likely both. I bet that was the first glimpse he's got of a naked woman. Now, however, Brien seemed to have worked up the courage to talk to her. "I'll kill them," 

"Do you want me to thank you?" Jaime asked. "If I had a knife, they'd be dead already," Thankfully she had stopped herself flinching away from anyone's touch, but her anger still burned hot and furious. Jaime was not someone who was used to feelings of shame or embarrassment - the closest she had come to it was when Ashara found her underneath Robert - but then again, she had never been raped by three sellswords in front of a young knight before.

"I'm sorry," The apology surprised her.

"What for?"

"I let it happen. I let them - " He broke off. 

"So did I," She shrugged as best she could. "Use your wits, boy. This lot would have killed both of us if we hadn't. Well, perhaps Hoat would have stopped them killing you. Good thing I'm such a liar. The goat wants his thapphireth, after all," She chuckled darkly. "Do you think I can make him say it?" She glanced up to see Brien's lip twitch weakly. "Come on, if you're really that sorry, the least you can do is not depress me further by looking so miserable. It wasn't you they raped," She could still feel their hands on her, and wanted nothing more than to scrub herself so clean that her skin bled, scrub away the filth and the pain. But of course, that was impossible.

The goat wanted to make a show of parading her in, so Jaime was made to dismount a mile from Harrenhal. She had been given a cloak, as her dress was next to useless as a garment now, but with her hands bound it was almost impossible to cover herself properly. A rope was looped around her wrists, a second around Brien's, the ends tied to Vargo Hoat's saddle.

Jaime's rage kept her stumbling along. The linen that covered her wound was grey and stinking with pus. Her chest screamed with every step, and the pain between her legs had not gone away. I am stronger than they know. I am still a Lannister. She would reach Harrenhal, and then King's Landing. She would live. And I will pay this debt with interest.

As they approached the clifflike walls, Brien squeezed her arm. 

"Lord Bolton holds this castle. The Boltons are bannermen to the Starks,"

"The Boltons skin their enemies," Jaime remembered that much. Tyrion would have known all there was to know about the Lord of the Dreadfort, but Tyrion was a thousand leagues away, with her children, with Cersen. I cannot die while they live. Cersen and I will die together as we were born together. In the nights after those three had come, she had dreamt of her twin, being safe in his arms, only for Cersen's face to twist into that of Rorge or Shagwell as he forced her onto her back. 

"The banners," Brien observed. "Flayed man and twin towers, see. King Robb's sworn men. There, above the gatehouse, grey on white. They fly the direwolf," Jaime twisted her head upward to look. 

"That's your bloody wolf, true enough," She granted. "And those are heads to either side of it,"

Soldiers, servants, and camp followers gathered to hoot at them. A spotted bitch followed them through the camps barking until one of the Lyseni impaled her on a lance and galloped to the front of the column. 

"I am bearing Kingslayer's banner," He shouted, shaking the dead dog above Jaime's head. Charming.

Vargo Hoat had sent two men ahead, so the outer ward was full of curious people. They gave way as Jaime staggered past, the rope around her wrists jerking and pulling at her whenever she slowed. She had given up trying to keep herself fully covered by the cloak. It was less humiliating than struggling in vain, given the whole castle would see her bare either way. 

"I give you the Kingthlayer," Hoat proclaimed. A spear jabbed at Jaime's back, sending her sprawling. When her arms smashed against the ground to stop the fall, jolting and stretching her wound, the pain was blinding, yet somehow she managed to fight her way back to her knees, biting back curses. Five knights and a northman stood looking down on her from the steps. 

"A fury of Freys," Jaime pushed herself upright in the dirt. "Ser Danwell, Ser Aenys, Ser Hosteen. You have my condolences,"

"For what, my lady?" Ser Danwell asked, seeming rather stunned to see her like this, blinking as though struggling to comprehend that it was really her. Aenys seemed rather amused; his eyes kept glancing downwards.

"Your brother's son, Ser Cleos," Jaime said. "He was with us until outlaws filled him full of arrows. Urswyck and this lot took his goods and left him for the wolves,"

"My lords!" Brien wrenched himself free. "I saw your banners. Hear me for your oath!"

"Who speaks?" Aenys Frey demanded.

"Lannither'th wet nurth,"

"I am Ser Brien of Tarth, son of Lord Selwyn the Evenstar, and sworn to House Stark even as you are," 

"That's for your oaths," Aenys spat at his feet. "We trusted the word of Robb Stark, and he repaid our faith with betrayal," Now this is interesting. But Brien was as singleminded as a mule. 

"I know of no betrayal. Lady Catelyn commanded me to deliver Lady Lannister to her brother at King's Landing," Lady Baratheon, boy. You forget I was married. 

"He was trying to drown her when we found them," Urswyck said. "Or fuck her, not sure which," Brien reddened.

"In anger I forgot myself, but I would never have killed her. If she dies the Lannisters will put my lady's daughters to the sword,"

"Why should that trouble us?" Ser Aenys was unmoved.

"Ransom her back to Riverrun," Ser Danwell urged.

"Casterly Rock has more gold," 

"Kill her! Her head for Ned Stark's!"

Shagwell somersaulted to the foot of the steps in his motley and began to sing. 

"There once was a lion who danced with a bear, oh my, oh my," Jaime wished it was him on the end of a spear rather than the dog. I'd enjoy taking his rotting corpse as my banner.

"Thilenth, fool," Hoat cuffed the man. "The Kingthlayer ith not for the bear. Thee ith mine,"

"She is no one's should she die," Roose Bolton spoke so softly that men quieted to hear him. "And pray recall, my lord, you are not master of Harrenhal till I march north," Fever made Jaime as fearless as she was lightheaded. 

"Can this be the Lord of the Dreadfort? When last I heard, my father had sent you scampering off with your tail betwixt your legs," Bolton's silence was a hundred times more threatening than Vargo Hoat's slobbering malevolence. 

"You have been... injured," The flatness of her bandages was visible where her hands were not free to pull the cloak around herself.

"I'm glad you noticed," Jaime said. "Though I'd rather the rest of the yard did not," Bolton reached down, cut the bindings on her wrists, and flung the bloody ropes at Hoat.

"Next time, do not parade a highborn lady half-naked through the castle," He said. "Take that away," Jaime's hands were stiff and sore, but she was able to pull the cloak over herself.

"I will thend a letter to her lord father. I will tell him he muth pay one hundred thouthand dragonth, or we thall return the Kingthlayer to him pieth by pieth. And when we hath hith gold, we thall deliver Lady Jaime to Karthark, and collect a maiden too!" A roar of laughter went up from the Brave Companions.

"A fine plan," Bolton said dryly. "Though Lord Karstark will not be giving you his daughter. King Robb has shortened him by a head, for treason and murder. As to Lord Tywin, he remains at King's Landing, and there he will stay till the new year, when his grandson takes for bride a daughter of Highgarden,"

"You mean Winterfell," Brien said. "King Joffrey is betrothed to Sansa Stark,"

"No longer. The rose and the lion have joined together. Mace Tyrell offers his daughter Margaery for the king's bride,"

I warned you, Urswyck, and you, goat. When you bet against the lions, you lose more than your purse. She did spare a pitying thought for poor, unsuspecting Margaery Tyrell, who would soon be at the mercy of her vile son. 

"Is there word of my other children?" She asked. "My brothers?"

"The Lord Regent is well. As are, so far as I know, all eight of your children," Bolton paused. "Your younger brother also lives," He beckoned to a dour northman. "Escort Lady Jaime to Qyburn. And unbind this man's hands," He turned to Brien. "Pray forgive us, Ser. In such troubled times it is hard to know friend from foe," Brien rubbed inside his wrist where, like Jaime, the hemp had scraped his skin bloody. 

"My lord, these men... tried to violate a highborn lady." Tried. At least he had the sense not to blurt the truth about across the yard. Lie better, boy, or keep your mouth shut.

"Did they?" Lord Bolton turned his pale eyes on Vargo Hoat chillingly. He saw through Brien's lie, though thankfully Jaime doubted anyone else did. "I am displeased. By that, and Lady Jaime's injury. She is the mother of the king, and I do not hear tales of his Grace's forgiving nature," As if Joffrey would give a shit. 

"They took my sword," Brien said. "My armour,"

"Return it all," Bolton turned to Hoat, who ground his teeth but nodded, ignoring the grumbling of his men; there were five northmen and as many Freys present for every Brave Companion. "Walton, find suitable rooms for Ser Brien. Amabel, you will see to Lady Jaime at once," Jaime had only enough time to exchange a quick look with Brien before they were marched away, separately.

In the maester's chambers, a grey-haired, fatherly man named Qyburn sucked in his breath when he cut away the linen from the wound on Jaime's chest.

"That bad? Will I die?"

Qyburn pushed at the wound with a finger, and wrinkled his nose at the gush of pus. "No. Though in a few more days..." He sliced away the remaining tatters of Jaime's dress. Glancing down, she saw they had not cut away all of the breast, just most. "The corruption has spread. I will have to cut away the rotten flesh. Try to burn out the corruption with boiling wine and a poultice. You will want milk of the poppy - "

"No," Jaime dare not let herself be put to sleep in a castle full of strangers, not after all that had happened in the past weeks. Not after the other night.

"There will be pain, my lady," Qyburn was taken aback.

"I'll scream,"

"A great deal of pain,"

"I'll scream very loudly,"

"Will you take some wine at least?"

"Does the High Septon ever pray?"

"Of that I am not certain. I shall bring the wine. Lie back, my lady, I must strap you to the chair," Ignoring the irrational panic rising inside her, Jaime forced herself to lean back and let the man fasten the straps. 

Qyburn cleaned the wound while she gulped down strongwine. Nothing helped when the time came to cut away the rotten flesh. Jaime did scream then, straining furiously against the bindings. She screamed again when Qyburn turned her on her side and poured boiling wine over what remained. Despite her fears, she lost consciousness for a time. When she woke, slumped in the chair, the maester was sewing at her chest with needle and catgut. 

"You'll have to be very careful. I'd have liked to have left a small flap of skin to fold back over, but there was little spare skin left,"

"How does a maester come to ride with the Brave Companions?" Jaime asked weakly. Qyburn did not look a monster, spare and soft-spoken, with warm brown eyes.

"The Citadel took my chain." Qyburn put away his needle. "I should do something about that wound above your eye as well. The flesh is badly inflamed. The cut on your cheek is deep too, my lady. I'm afraid that will scar," Jaime closed her eyes and let Qyburn work. 

"Tell me of the news from Storm's End,"

"Your second son has not proclaimed himself king, if that's what you mean," She was silent at that. If Orryn did crown himself, that meant he believed everything they said about her. The fact he hadn't gave her hope. "Open your eye," Qyburn dabbed at the crust of dried blood. "How did you come by this one?"

"A knight's gift,"

"I suppose chivalry isn't what it used to be, my lady," She smirked at that. 

"This boy is large enough to be a Clegane and uglier than you. You'd best see to him as well. He's still limping on the leg I pricked when we fought,"

"I will ask after him. What is this man to you?"

"My protector," Jaime had to laugh, no matter how it hurt.

*

With regard to Jaime's injury; the Bloody Mummers cut of male Jaime's hand as most of Westeros views the sword hand as what makes a man, representing strength and power. So for female Jaime, they cut off what makes her a woman, supposedly ruining her beauty. With regard to the rape; yes it is a horrible scene, but they were very close to raping Brienne in the books, and it was only the fact that he would get less ransom (given she was still a maiden) that Hoat stopped them. Jaime was not a maiden, and there was no shout of sapphires to save her. Therefore I felt like it would be hardly realistic for the mummers to leave a beautiful woman untouched. 

Any text you recognise from A Storm of Swords is the work of GRRM. As usual, I tried to cut down the amount of text from ASOS and write an original take, but there are many scenes where this is impossible given that I want to get the characterisations to be as accurate as possible. 

Thank you for all your reads and comments! I love hearing what readers have to say, so feel free to give constructive criticism etc.