The trek back through the Whispering Woods was long and the only sound, the drag of Jaime Lannister's boots against the damp earth. The Kingslayer was no longer screaming. He had entered a stage of shock that made him talkative, his voice a thin, reedy rasp that cut through the silence of the trees.
"You're... quite the beast, aren't you?" Jaime mumbled, his head lolling as I dragged him by the collar of his tunic. He let out a wet, jagged laugh. "Lord Stark always was... too stiff to get his hands dirty. Had to find a beast to do it for him. Fitting. A beast for a stupid lord."
I didn't tighten my grip, but I didn't slow down. I could smell the blood loss; it was sweet a scent that told me he was drifting.
"Do you eat them?" Jaime wheezed, his eyes glazed as they tracked the canopy above. "Or just... break them? I'd offer you my other hand, but... I think I'd like to keep it. For the wine. Tell Stark... he's a coward for sending a beast to do a man's.."
I gave a sharp, warning rumble in my chest, the vibration rattling his teeth. He fell silent for a moment, his breathing coming in shallow, ragged hitches. The arrogance was still there though.
The orange glow of torches finally flickered through the birch trees.
"To the west!" a guard screamed, the panic in his voice sharp enough to wake the camp. "Archers, to the west!"
I didn't stop. I walked straight into the perimeter of the torchlight. The men scrambled back, pikes leveled with trembling hands. They saw the charred black fur, the cream mane matted with burrs and blood, and the massive head. But then they saw what was in my jaws.
I dragged the golden-clad figure into the center of the camp, right toward the cluster of command tents.
Ned emerged from the main pavilion, Robb and Catelyn at his heels. He looked weary, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword, his eyes searching the dark until they landed on me. He froze. The archers on the ridge held their breath, their fingers poised on their strings, but none dared to release.
I stopped ten feet from Ned. Later I unhinged my jaws and threw Jaime Lannister forward. He hit the dirt with a thud, rolling onto his back.
A collective gasp went up from the lords. The blonde hair, the red tunic, the face that was famous from King Landing to the Wall, there was no mistaking the Kingslayer.
"Jaime?" Catelyn whispered, her hand flying to her throat as she saw the mangled, bloody stump where his right hand had been.
Ned stepped forward, his face couldn't hide his shock. "Capture him," he commanded, his voice shaking. "Get the Healer! Now!"
As the guards rushed forward to bind the prisoner, Jaime looked up at Ned. His face was ghostly pale, his eyes unfocused, a thin trail of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. He flashed a ghastly, delirious smile.
"Stark..." he mumbled, his head lolling toward the dirt as his consciousness began to slip. "Tell your... tell your beast... a Lannister... always... pays..."
His voice trailed off into a broken mumble as his eyes rolled back, the blood loss finally claiming him.
Ned watched the guards drag Jaime away, then he turned to me. The sadness I'd seen in the clearing was still there. He took a tentative step toward me, his hand reaching out, his lips parting as if to say the words he hadn't been able to find before.
I didn't wait to hear them.
I took a sharp step back, my hackles rising just enough to show him my stance. I didn't growl, but the message was clear: I had saved the north's war and delivered his win, but the sword in the woods had changed things.
I pivoted, my muscles bunching, and broke into a low, powerful run. I didn't use the speed of a thunderclap this time; I simply vanished into the shadows of the Whispering Wood, leaving the camp behind to deal with the kingslayer they had just capture.