He twisted his wrist, the weight of the golden hand heavy, making the movement clumsy and slow. It would take some getting used to, and despite it all, it looked pathetic to stare at. A reminder of his failure that he couldn't help but stare at with disgust.

Jaime had seen many stupid things in his life, but being gifted with a golden hand when people already judged his father for shitting gold had been, possibly, the most laughable thing he could ever behold.

That, and the fact that his family was going bankrupt, anyways. Or the fact that he couldn't stop himself from staring between his fake hand and the neat white cloak laid out before him on the table.

Another joke, it seemed, meant to disturb his mental state — precarious as it already was, he swore he would throw himself out of the nearest tower if his family decided to bother him with any more trivialities.

Ever since he came back to the Red Keep after being tortured, maimed and beaten by hundreds of different northerners, everyone seemed to have a bone to pick with him. Tywin, Cersei, Tyrion, Joffrey...

A knock on his door, and a scoff escaped from his lips as he rose from the chair he had been sitting on. For a man who had spent so much time brooding and contemplating whether following his father's wishes or the vows he had sworn, he still managed a small smile when he found you standing on the other side of the door.

Unlike the rest of his family, you didn't seem to find any pleasure in tormenting him. That, Jaime was thankful for, but then again... he never really thought much about your true intentions.

"Need a hand with something?"

On cue, he rose his fake hand, the gold gleaming under the light of the candles. When he noticed that you didn't budge, he huffed under his breath and his smile faltered.

"Apologies, that went better in my head. What a pleasure seeing you here for no apparent reason..."