///Game of Thrones- One Shots///

Jamie Lannister

//Jamie assumes you are judging him for his missing hand, however is proven wrong when you show him how similar you both are//

The smell of vomit and stale ale filled your nostrils as you attempted to wipe down the bar, the rag you were using sticking to the wooden surface with little effect. Sighing, you ran your hands trough your choppy hair, giving up on the task and instead deciding to survey the people you would be serving tonight. The groups huddled around the tables were the regulars, obese old men who would press up against you at any given change, their breath against your ear as they told you all the things they could do to you if you'd only just come back with them, along with the skinny alcoholics who stumbled in after their shifts and stayed till early in the morning. After serving one of these exact men his eighth pint of the hour, you felt a sharp pain through your left leg. Not again, you thought to yourself, excusing yourself into the back room to gather yourself, to the annoyance of the other girls on shift. Once alone, you lifted yourself cautiously into an old wine barrel, hitching up your dress to reveal a wooden stump, poorly fashioned into a leg-like shape where a real left leg should have been. The leather straps connecting the stump to what was left of your leg were ill-fitting and badly fashioned, causing the material to dig into your skin, creating welts and sores which were beginning to donn a greenish tinge. Muttering irritably,you fiddled with the straps in an attempt to adjust them, however all you managed to achieve was another sharp wave of pain, causing yourself to jerk backwards, hitting your head on the hard brick behind you as you let out a strangled cry. This must have carried outside of the storeroom, as soon after there was a bashing at the door, and one of the bartenders shouted that it was time for you to do waitering duty. Great.
You made your way outside, leg (or what was left of it) aching with every step, however you put on your fakest of smiles and went out to take the orders of the tables. This went on for a few minutes, the pain in your leg increasing tenfold for every second you put any weight on it, when a new face pushed open the door with a crash and threw himself rather moodily onto the closest chair in the corner of the pub. Knowing how customers often liked to take their frustrations out on the staff around them, you hesitantly made your way over to him, and recited your usual drivel of "Hello Sir, what would you like to eat or drink?" However, his response was lost, as your eyes had zoned into the golden hand that was in the place of where a right hand should have been. It shined beautifully in the moody light of the pub, and you wondered to yourself how much it would cost to have a version of that for your leg, the thought making you chuckle.
"Are you going to get my ale or are do you want to mock me more, wench?
You were broken out of your thoughts by the man snapping angrily at you, his piercing blue eyes glaring into you.
"Excuse me?" You responded, your face heating up with anger as you realised what he had called you.
"I know it's fun to point and laugh at the wounded, but at least get me a drink while you're at it."
You floundered for a second, before you took in what he had said, and were quick to respond
"I don't give a shit about your hand!"
You spluttered, your face beginning to reach an alarming shade of beetroot.
"Oh, it sure seemed like it darling, now get me a drink before I have to call on someone else."
He waved a hand at you dismissively, however you refused to let him think that you would be so rude to judge someone for something so out of their control. You stood there for a few seconds, wondering how to put into words what you wanted to say, and he raised and eyebrow, leaning back and folding his arms defensively.
"I...Uh..." not knowing what to say, you gave up and instead decided to just lift up your dress to show him why it would be stupid of you to judge him for his lack of a limb. While pulling it up, you brushed against the sores and hissed, black clouding at the edge of your vision, causing you to wobble slightly. His eyes widened, an arm darting out to steady you, but you pulled away.
"M'fine" you mumbled irritably, causing his eyes to squint at you in doubt.
"Sit." He all but ordered, and you opened your mouth to protest before you stumbled once more, and decided it was probably the best that you sat.
Clearing your throat, you fiddled with your hands in your lap, glancing up awkwardly to the blond haired man, only now noticing the ornate sword by his hip. He must be paid well.
"What happened?"
The man had broken the silence that had settled between the two of you, and you jumped slightly, tongue flicking out to wet your lips as you prepared to tell him.
"We used to live...uh, a little too close to the wall, should I say. We were attacked by wildlings and my leg was slashed as we rode away from the attack. There must have been something on whatever blade caught me, 'cause by the time we came upon a medic it was too late to save it, only thing to do was chop it off and pray to whatever gods are out there. I guess I prayed to the right ones, 'cause I'm still here today..."
You chuckled self-deprecatingly, rubbing your neck, not able to look him in the eye.
"How long ago?" He questioned, seeming unphased by the story you had told, although his voice had taken a softer turn.
"Uh, around two years ago, I think. I don't really like to think about it. We moved over here straight after I was healed, my dad didn't want to chance it again down by the wall."
You were beginning to grow tired of all this questioning, your mouth feeling dry from your conversation, both from taking and simply remembering what had happened.
"Hey, before we go any further into my pity story, may I ask your name?" You felt as if the both of you should at least exchange names, due to the depth of the conversation you were having. He seemed to agree, and spoke once more.
"Jamie, Jamie...Lanister."
Your eyes widened at the mention of such a powerful name, face paling as you realised that this man could ruin you, however you strived to appear as non-perturbed as possible.
"The Kingsguard?" You questioned innocently, hoping that he wouldn't be bothered by your enquiry.
"I feel as if I am better known as the Kingslayer, my dear."
Flushing slightly, you stuck your head up high, not willing to let him bring himself down.
"Well, he was a bit of a shit king, if you don't mind me saying." You said nervously, hoping that the humour would loosen the tensions a small amount.
"No-one seems to remember that part." He chuckles, eyes creasing slightly as they met with yours. "What's your name then, as I'd rather not refer to you as wench any more."
His voice taking on a playful tone
"Oh, uh, its (Y/N), although I don't have a fancy title like you do." You bit at your fingers nervously.
"Ah, but that's all they are, titles my dear (Y/N)" He smirked, and you began to realise how his voice only amplified how attractive he was beginning to appear to you. Your thoughts on the prince however were rudely interrupted by another throb of pain from the sores on your leg, and you groaned weakly, wiping away the sweat that was beginning to form along your brow.
"(Y/N), I fear that lump of wood strapped to yourself isn't helping your condition whatsoever." As he spoke, he glanced down at you, as if he could see the offending object through the ratty fabric of your dress.
"Well it's the only thing that lets me bloody walk, so it's going to have to stay." You huffed stubbornly, crossing your arms to get your point across.
"Why don't you get yourself a proper limb fitted? It would be far more comfortable, and prevent you from being this pained." Jamie seemed to be worried for you, which was strange, as fifteen minutes ago he seemed to have thought you were a wench.
"Look, I'm sure it's lovely to have a fancy gold arm and all, but some of us can't afford to splurge on limbs like that. I made the best with what I had, and it's worked so far." You hopes you didn't sound too rude, however it irritated you that he forgot how privileged his family name was compared to the general population. This outburst of yours seemed to make him backtrack, as you listened to what he had to say next.
"I apologise if I had offended you my dear, I was simply proposing that I could aid you, as your story has moved me rather a lot. It wouldn't be all gold, obviously, as that wouldn't be very practical, and it shall be fitted perfectly to prevent any more of those nasty sores you seem to be bearing. I do hope you will accept my little gift, to apologise to how I treated to you when we first met."
You were shocked at his sudden kindness, and upon realising what he meant, you breath caught in your throat.
"So there is no catch?" You uttered, believing that this was simply too good to be true.
"Well...there is one thing I ask from you." Your heart sunk, as you were sure he would ask some sort of sexual favour in return for this new limb, and you refused to stoop to that level, even if it would be much better than the one you had now. Before you could decline whatever foul offer he was going to give you, he spoke again
"I simply ask that you consider having dinner with me, let's say, tomorrow night?" He questioned, the playful look on his face attempting to cover up his nervousness. Oh my, that was not what you expected-
"Oh, of course! I mean... I think I am free." You cringe at the eagerness in your voice, however it seams to please him greatly.
"Perfect. I will pick you up tomorrow after your work and we can discuss further meetings from there." After saying this, he kissed your hands, placed down a tip which was far too much considering he had not ordered a thing, and slinked out of his chair and out of the door, the while with a huge, shit-eating smirk plastered across his too-pretty face, leaving you wide mouthed and once again, beetroot red.