#kingslayer

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While the day hadn’t been strenuous or crazy, it was still tiring. You, Jaime, and your son, Damion, had been posed for a portrait for hours. You got one made every year since Damion had been born so you could look back on how he has grown. The final painting was always worth the time spent but still, all you wanted to do now was fall asleep next to your husband.

You were currently laying in bed with him, your head on his chest while he brushed through your hair with his fingers. Jaime had taken his gold hand off, opting to set it on the nightstand next to the bed. That was something he had only started doing about two years ago. At first, he had felt so insecure about his amputated hand that he refused to take the golden hand off. You never forced him to take it off but you would remind him that he didn’t need to have it on always.

Over the years that insecurity had dwindled into acceptance. When the accident first occurred Jaime questioned his life, he could no longer wield a blade in his dominant hand, he could no longer write neatly—even if his writing was never truly that neat before. The thing that upset him the most though, was the fact he would never hold your face in both his hands again. He was devastated about the loss but he still had you and at the time, he had just got the news that you were pregnant with Damion. And Jaime couldn’t leave you alone with a newborn babe, so he held on.

It pained him to think about the fact his son would never be able to spar with him when he was one of the greatest swordsmen in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Damion would hear stories of the great Kingslayer but never see for himself.

To many, Jaime was a freak and grotesque but to you, he was just Jaime. Your Jaime.

And to your son, Jaime was a hero. There was no one in the world that he looked up to more than his father.

The sound of your husband's heart combined with the soft, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the way he played with your hair was lulling you to sleep quickly but just as your eyes grey heavy; the door to your chambers was being pushed open. Jaime quickly hides his right arm, he may have been okay with you seeing it but that didn’t mean anyone else could.

The Knight who had been standing guard looks apologetic, “I’m sorry my lord, my lady, but he was rather insistent on speaking to you at this very moment.”

Damion came bouncing into the room, hiding his arm behind his back. You raised a brow and sat up straight, dismissing the guard, he shut the door behind him.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” you gently remind Damion, tilting your head.

The young boy giggles, “I know I know!”

Still giggling, he climbs up onto the bed, still hiding his other arm, he begins to jump up and down before finally stopping and sitting down in front of you both.

“Look!” he holds out his right hand for you both to see, “I’m just like you, father!”

Damion had completely covered his right hand in gold paint that he had swiped after you all were done posing for the day. You look at Jaime to gauge his reaction and you immediately note that his eyes had become glossy.

“Damion, why would you want…”

“Because father! I want to be like you! Now we’ve got matching gold hands…” Damion trails off when he notices the tears in Jaime’s eyes, “…I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you upset… I’ll… I’ll go wash it off.”

“I’m not upset,” Jaime says, taking a deep breath.

“But you’re crying,” Damion says, matter-of-factly.

“You can cry when you’re happy too…and this… come here…” he reaches out to pull Daimon into a tight hug, “this makes me happy.”

Your son tugs at you as well to bring you into the hug.

“I love you both so much,” Jaime sighs, pressing kisses to both of your heads, “thank you.”

You all bask in the sweet family moment until Daimon laughs a bit, “Is this a bad time to tell you I don’t think the paint dried yet?”