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GOT Chapter 63: Together, Forever
🕑 Added 2025-08-08 04:29:22 +0000 UTCEverything that had just happened seemed to occur in a flash, the entire sequence taking place in the span of a single instant.
By the time Jaime came to his senses and looked up, he realized that the longsword he had just swung toward Kal’s neck had—at some unknown moment—been parried by a dagger in Kal’s hand.
That shrill, screeching sound from earlier had come from the blades of the two weapons dragging and grinding against one another.
It turned out that, in that very instant, Kal had drawn the dagger from his waist and used it to block Jaime’s sudden, spur-of-the-moment attack.
Instinctively, Jaime's gaze shifted toward the dagger.
It looked plain and unadorned, but as his eyes followed the ripple-like patterns on the blade—like water in motion—
—and then settled on the handle, darkened but gleaming with a strange sheen, Jaime instantly recognized what it was.
This was a Valyrian steel dagger, finely forged, with a dragonbone hilt.
A weapon gifted to Kal by Robert Baratheon himself, after Kal had won a trial by combat.
Upon seeing it, Jaime was struck by a bizarre sense of déjà vu, as if fate had taken form. For a brief moment, he lost focus.
But Kal wasn’t about to indulge him.
Having nearly had his face shaved off by that sword swing, Kal immediately raised his heavy boot—and drove it straight into Jaime’s chest.
Unsurprisingly, Jaime couldn’t withstand the full force of that brutal, heavy kick. He was sent flying backward, only coming to a stop after crashing into the crumbling tower wall.
His gilded longsword flew from his grip as he was launched, tracing an arc through the air before landing between the two of them, amidst a pile of shattered scale-stone bricks.
"Cough, cough—cough!"
Slammed into the wall and then bounced back down, Jaime crashed onto the ground. A sharp pain bloomed in his chest, and a bitter taste welled up in his throat.
His breath caught, stuck somewhere between his lungs and heart.
Dazed, he slumped against the stone wall and collapsed to the ground. His eyes rolled back as his body twitched involuntarily—only slowly regaining consciousness after a moment.
Then, with a wet splurt, he hacked up a mouthful of bright red blood, finally managing to take a deep breath and force out the air that had been trapped in his chest.
“Surrender.”
“You don’t need to die by my hand, Jaime.”
“I don’t want my dearest friend to hate me for killing his brother. I know—he’s the only one in this world who still loves his dwarf brother.”
Staring at the Kingslayer, who had lost all ability to fight after taking just one kick, Kal’s tone grew complicated as he tried to persuade him to yield.
But in the face of Kal’s offer of mercy, the once-proud knight only gave a grim, savage smile.
Bright red blood had stained his otherwise flawless white teeth. But with the internal injuries he’d suffered, even breathing seemed to come with difficulty.
And yet, despite his faint, failing breath, the Kingslayer actually turned around and comforted Kal.
“Tyrion wouldn’t see it that way... He’s wiser than either of us could ever hope to be.”
At those words, Jaime’s eyes suddenly went blank, as though something had just come to mind...
“But if you’re worried he might not believe it, you can tell him—”
“Tysha wasn’t a camp follower. She truly loved him. Cough... cough—!”
Hearing him bring this up, Kal’s expression shifted slightly.
“I’ve heard that story. He told me when he was drunk, lying in the arms of a black-haired whore.”
“But what he told me was different from what you’re saying. According to him, he paid a gold dragon for the lie.”
Kal looked down at the collapsed Jaime with a strange tone in his voice.
“That wasn’t a lie... it was me who deceived him.”
Hearing that, the Kingslayer’s face twisted in pain—though it was hard to tell whether it came from his body, or his heart.
“Why?” Kal asked.
“I don’t know...” Jaime only muttered in response.
Because the question no longer had an answer.
Because the entire matter had been a mistake from the very beginning.
And yet, looking at it now, maybe there was still a chance to make things right—even if it was already too late.
“But if you tell him this—cough—Tyrion will believe you. And if he still doesn’t, you can have him ask Father for the truth—”
Hearing this, Kal felt utterly speechless.
He didn’t even know how to describe the complex man that was Jaime Lannister.
So all he could do was sigh and shake his head. “Then go tell him yourself. The time you have left is enough to say goodbye to Tyrion.”
But faced with Kal’s kindness, the Kingslayer firmly shook his head.
“No. That won’t be necessary. Everything that happens today will end right here!”
As he spoke, he unexpectedly summoned all his strength. And then, suddenly, he lunged—throwing himself toward where his gilded longsword had fallen.
Snatching the sword back up, he turned and—without hesitation—charged straight at Kal once more.
Watching this man, who was still trying to fight to the death even now, Kal let out another sigh.
Then, in a flash, he reached out with his bare hand, striking faster than Jaime’s attack, and grabbed the Kingslayer’s right hand—sword and all—in a single motion.
Against Jaime Lannister’s now chaotic and utterly disorganized swordplay, Kal honestly felt the man would’ve been better off swinging a red-hot poker.
But before Kal could make another move, the Kingslayer’s expression suddenly twisted into a bizarre smile.
In that instant, Kal noticed that Jaime’s free left hand was reaching toward the dagger at Kal’s waist.
Seeing this, Kal’s brow furrowed. His patience instantly ran dry.
With a sharp twist and crushing grip of his left hand, Kal not only shattered the bones in Jaime’s right hand, he also ripped the sword from his grasp in the same motion.
The searing pain hit like lightning. Jaime could only let out a pained scream as his body instinctively collapsed to its knees.
But Kal didn’t intend to let it end there.
This constant, reckless attempt to fight to the death—this desperate need to be the one to strike the killing blow—had finally worn away Kal’s tolerance.
So this time, after dealing with Jaime’s pointless attack once more, Kal didn’t stop there.
He simply switched the longsword to his other hand, grabbed the Kingslayer by the collar, and dragged the man—who was groaning in muffled agony from the pain—over to a nearby stone wall.
Casting a casual glance at the rough, uneven surface of the wall, Kal didn't hesitate. He flung Jaime into a corner at its base.
That corner wasn’t far from where Cersei was still huddled, trembling in fear.
But Kal didn’t spare the queen a glance.
After tossing Jaime aside, he swiftly drew the dragonbone-hilted dagger from his waist with a sharp shing.
Then, without hesitation, he drove the blade into the gap between Jaime’s radius and ulna.
The strength and sharpness of Valyrian steel were beyond human comprehension.
And this dagger—its edge pierced clean through Jaime’s arm and sank deep into the stone wall behind him, lodging itself between two bricks.
Just like that, Kal pinned the nearly-mad Kingslayer to the wall.
“Stay put.”
Seeing Jaime drenched in sweat, his metacarpals crushed, his wrist broken from before, Kal simply muttered those words and stood up.
He casually leaned the gilded longsword he’d taken from Jaime against the wall nearby.
Then he turned toward the room’s window and leaned out to look below.
Before coming up here, he’d already given Jon Snow clear instructions. If the boy wasn’t a complete fool, he’d know what to do.
And now that Kal had dragged this out long enough, the ones who were meant to come should be arriving.
Sure enough, just as he looked down, Kal saw that the place—normally deserted—was now swarming with over a hundred people.
All of them wore grey woolen clothing, marked with the sigil of House Stark.
That meant they were all Stark men.
“Looks like the boy’s not an idiot after all.” Kal smiled faintly—this had been a small test for Jon Snow.
But just then, a muffled cry of pain and strained grunting echoed behind him.
Instinctively turning around, Kal saw that Cersei had crept over to Jaime’s side and was now trying desperately to yank out the dagger embedded between the bricks.
But a pampered queen like her was never going to be able to pull it free.
“Don’t waste your strength, Cersei—”
At that moment, the queen looked like nothing more than a fragile girl. Tears blurred her eyes, soaking her face.
Her golden hair was a mess, her clothes disheveled, yet she was still trying, with everything she had, to save Jaime.
“No... I have to save you. We should’ve listened to him. As long as we’re still alive, Robert won’t dare kill us. Tommen and the others will be safe too.”
“We’ll go back to the Westerlands. Father will protect us. He’s always wanted you to inherit Casterly Rock. We still have a chance!”
Cersei choked on her sobs as she spoke, revealing the plans she had made.
She had seen with her own eyes how Jaime had just risked his life battling Kal—and she had also seen the resolute look in his eyes just moments before.
In that instant, Cersei suddenly came to her senses. And she realized that, compared to the man she loved, nothing else truly mattered.
She no longer cared about being queen. She only wanted to take her beloved and return to the place where she was born and raised.
And as Kal looked at the tear-streaked Cersei, listening to these words—words of "vulnerability" that she had spoken for the first time in her life—
Jaime’s eyes slowly widened.
He had spent his whole life wishing to hear Cersei say things like this.
But her domineering nature, cultivated since childhood, along with that unspeakable Lannister pride, had always made it clear to him that this version of Cersei would only ever exist in his dreams.
And yet now, at last, she had seen the truth. She wasn’t so blind anymore.
But it was too late. She was still so naïve, thinking that if she gave up everything, they could somehow return to how things used to be.
Looking at the woman he loved, Jaime’s face slowly softened into a gentle smile.
He reached out with his only good hand—his left—and gently caressed her face, wiping away her tears with his thumb.
“Alright. I promise you. But... could you hand me my sword?”
Cersei sniffled twice. Without hesitation and without thinking too much, she obediently fetched the gilded longsword leaning against the wall and handed it to Jaime.
Watching the tender exchange between the two, Kal furrowed his brow slightly, not quite understanding Jaime’s intent.
Had he given up?
But the next moment made everything clear—Kal didn’t have to guess what Jaime Lannister meant anymore.
Because as soon as Jaime took the sword from Cersei’s hands, he suddenly, without hesitation, swung it—
—and sliced off the right arm that had been pinned to the stone wall by the Valyrian dagger.
He severed it clean at the elbow.
In an instant, a fresh wave of agony overwhelmed him, and Jaime felt a rush of dizziness.
The longsword slipped from his hand and clattered to the ground.
But now that he was "free" again, he clenched his teeth and refused to faint. He even managed a weak smile for Cersei, who was startled by his sudden act.
“Cersei... my love—”
“We’ll be together forever.”
As he said this, Jaime ignored the blood gushing from his right arm and threw himself into her embrace.
Like lovers reunited after years apart, they clung to each other with fierce, desperate passion.
“I’ll love you forever! Forever!!!”
Held tightly in Jaime’s arms, hearing his loving words whispered into her ear, Cersei could no longer even cry.
But what she failed to notice was that her beloved—still murmuring his love—was slowly sliding his only remaining hand toward her throat.
And just then, Kal, who had unconsciously turned his head, suddenly heard a rush of footsteps coming up the tower stairs—
Accompanied by a sharp, urgent call: “Ser Kal Stone!”
“We’re here!!!”
