After finishing the barley bread and drinking half a skin of water, Corleone felt strength returning to his limbs. Still, he deliberately rested a little longer so he wouldn't seem overeager. Only then did he rise and step toward Jaime, crouching beside him to examine the wound.
"Criminal. Accomplice to monsters."
"You saved that vile man's life. He would've died from infection, but now he'll go on killing more innocents because of you!"
Brienne's furious voice hammered his ears before he even touched Jaime's severed hand.
"Spare me, my lady."
Corleone didn't sound offended at all. He lifted the maimed arm with steady hands and spoke calmly.
"Don't put yourself on some moral high ground. I'm not a moral man."
"You… shameless!"
His indifference left Brienne flustered, face flushing red as she struggled to find the right words.
"Shameless?"
"It hardly matters, Lady Brienne of Tarth."
He shot her a glance, accurately calling her by her full name, then lowered his voice.
"Everything I do is to survive. That's all."
"This world has no true innocence. Can you honestly say you've never lied, never done anything wrong?"
"If I recall correctly, you swore to protect Renly Baratheon… yet he died right under your nose."
Brienne froze, stunned. Rage followed, but she still couldn't find a rebuttal.
Corleone pressed on without mercy.
"I'm alive because I have a skill. Compared to those who died today, I'm lucky."
"And the same goes for you both."
He looked between them.
"A lion missing one claw is still luckier than a man with no head. At least you have me, your supposed 'accomplice,' to clean your wounds and keep you alive long enough for your kin to pay ransom."
It sounded like he was lecturing Brienne, but the message was meant for Jaime.
Corleone had noticed how the Kingslayer, once proud of his swordsmanship, had sunk into a silent, motionless stupor since his right hand was taken. Not a word all day.
If Corleone's plan was going to work, that had to change.
Sure enough, Jaime suddenly twitched. His head lifted, and in the shadows, his green eyes looked dim and hollow.
He stared as Corleone cleaned the stump with a hot cloth, gaze empty, voice deadened.
"A lion without claws is no different from a dead man."
Corleone didn't feel disappointed. He smiled.
A reaction was all he needed.
Jaime Lannister wouldn't stay broken over a single lost hand. Not forever. He only needed a push.
Corleone didn't answer immediately. Instead, he lifted Jaime's severed hand, now scrubbed clean of filth, and inspected the cut closely.
"Let's see. The cut's jagged, typical of a chopping wound. Looks like they used a dull blade, probably an axe."
"The cartilage is mixed with bone fragments. The injury is severe, but the fact that you haven't developed a fever yet is impressive. Your constitution is excellent, Ser Jaime."
Jaime's eyes flickered when Corleone called him by his title instead of "Kingslayer." He lowered his gaze and tapped the severed hand hanging on his chest with his left fingers, watching it sway.
"If you could reattach it… I'd see you named Grand Maester."
"One million Golden Dragons."
"…What?"
Jaime stared at him. Corleone's expression didn't change.
"One million Golden Dragons. Pay me that, and I'll try to reattach it."
He repeated it calmly.
He wasn't joking. With enough Golden Dragons to upgrade his Surgery skill to level 5, it might actually be possible.
But Jaime's temper snapped.
"Get away from me. I don't need your treatment!"
The maimed lion felt mocked. He tried to yank his arm back, but Corleone abruptly pressed straight down on the exposed nerves.
"Ah!"
Jaime's breath hitched. Sweat poured down his face.
"What are you..."
"Pain response is intact. Your nerves still function."
Corleone spoke to himself in a measured tone.
"Congratulations, ser. You're not at risk of dying. Yet."
Only when Corleone lifted his hand did Jaime gasp frantically for air, glaring hard.
Corleone ignored the hostility. He continued treating the wound while speaking evenly.
"The Night's Watch has a ranger named Qhorin Halfhand."
"His right hand was sliced in half during battle."
"But he didn't crumble. He trained his left until it surpassed his right. Became one of their finest."
"That's impossible."
Jaime scoffed.
"No one can train their off-hand to surpass their dominant one unless they were born left-handed."
"Never say impossible."
Corleone shook his head.
"Ask anyone in the North. Qhorin Halfhand's name is known."
Jaime's eyes brightened slightly. A spark of hope flickered. Prideful as he was, he refused to believe a Night's Watch ranger could surpass him.
He finally looked Corleone in the eye.
"How do you know all this?"
"Unlike you, Ser Jaime," Corleone replied, "people like me must stay observant."
"I keep my enemies close, not out of hatred, but understanding. That's how I survive."
"You're planning to rebel?"
Jaime lowered his voice, lips curling faintly.
"Just you? A farmer who knows a bit of medicine?"
"Not me."
Corleone finished wrapping the stump, then lightly patted Jaime's arm.
"Us, my friend."
"Us?"
Jaime snorted.
"Look at us. A farmer, a Kingsguard with no sword hand, and a woman who was nearly raped. When we reach Harrenhal, they'll probably cut off your head."
"Of course they will."
Corleone shrugged.
Trusting Vargo Hoat to show gratitude was more unrealistic than expecting Brienne to become a polite lady.
But under Jaime's gaze, Corleone leaned closer, lowering his voice.
"But here's the thing. Women and children can afford mistakes. Men can't. In my world, one careless word means death."
"So, ser, let's discuss a deal."
His tone was calm, almost businesslike.
"I'll take care of the trouble ahead and get you both back to King's Landing."
"In return, I want my payment."
Jaime flexed his stump and glanced at Brienne. Her expression gave him only one message.
Do it.
Things couldn't get worse anyway.
"A Lannister always pays his debts."
Jaime Lannister smiled faintly.
"Help us reach King's Landing, and I'll see you paid enough Golden Dragons to fill a bathtub."
"But before that, I need your plan, Vito Corleone."
"I can't tell you everything. But I can give you part of it."
Candlelight cast half of Corleone's face in darkness.
"The lieutenant, Urswyck."
"He'll be our breakthrough."
"You plan to help him seize command?" Brienne blurted, disapproval heavy in her tone.
"Jaime tried everything to buy these sellswords. They have no honor…"
"No."
Corleone shook his head, a slow smile curling at his lips.
He slid a hand into his pocket and touched the Golden Dragon resting there.
"Urswyck will help us. Not because he wants to."
"But because he won't have a choice."
"I'll make him an offer… he can't refuse."