I'll Make an Offer He Can't Refuse

After eating the flatbread and drinking a small skin of water, Corleone recovered a good deal of his strength.

Still, he deliberately rested a while longer so he would not seem so eager. Only then did he stand, walk over to Jaime, and crouch to examine his injury.

"Criminal! Accomplice!"

"That damned bastard would have died of infection, but you cured him! Do you realize that letting him live will mean more innocent people die?"

Before Corleone even touched Jaime's severed wrist, a stream of curses reached his ears.

"Save it, my lady."

He did not get angry, however. Instead, he lifted Jaime's severed wrist and said evenly, "Don't try to impose your moral high ground on me. I really don't have much in the way of morals."

"You... shameless!"

The sight of Corleone's utter indifference left Brienne momentarily speechless. She could not even think of another insult, and her face flushed crimson.

"Shameless?"

"That doesn't matter at all, Miss Brienne of Tarth."

He glanced at the woman, who stood half a head taller than Jaime, and addressed her accurately by her full name. "Everything I do is merely to survive," he said gravely.

"There is no such thing as innocence in this world. Can you honestly say you've never lied or done a single bad thing?"

"If I remember correctly, you once swore to protect Renly Baratheon, yet he was killed right under your nose."

Brienne, who had been seething with anger, froze at his words. Then she grew even angrier, but could find nothing to say in rebuttal.

Corleone, however, had no intention of letting her off. He pressed on relentlessly:

"I'm still alive because I have a useful skill. Compared with those who were killed, I'm very lucky."

"By the same token, you two are very lucky as well."

"The lion may have lost a claw, but that's far better than losing his head."

"At least you still have an 'accomplice' like me working hard to examine your injuries and make sure you two noble personages live long enough for your families to pay your ransoms, don't you?"

These words seemed to be a lecture directed at Brienne, but they were actually meant for Jaime.

Corleone had already noticed that this man, who had always prided himself on his swordsmanship, had clearly sunk into profound despair after losing his right hand. He had not spoken so much as a single word all day.

For Corleone's plan to succeed, he first had to get Jaime back on his feet.

Sure enough, Jaime, who had shown no reaction all this time, suddenly twitched twice and raised his head. In the shadows, his green eyes seemed veiled in gray.

He looked at Corleone, who was cleaning his wound with a hot towel. His eyes showed not the slightest ripple, and his voice held a trace of deathly stillness.

"What difference is there between a lion without fangs or claws and one that's truly dead?"

Hearing these self-denying words, Corleone was not disappointed. Instead, he grinned.

As long as he reacted.

With Jaime Lannister's mental resilience, how could the mere loss of a right hand break him?

The man had simply become trapped in his own thinking for the moment. He needed some guidance.

But Corleone did not immediately launch into a lengthy speech. Instead, he lifted the severed wrist, which had been covered in filth and had taken considerable effort to clean, and examined it closely before his eyes.

"Let me see... the cut is uneven, a typical hacking wound. It looks as though they probably didn't use a sword with a good steel edge. More like an axe."

"Cartilage and bone fragments are mixed together, and the wound has deteriorated badly. The fact that you still haven't developed an infection and fever says a great deal about your excellent constitution, Ser Jaime."

Hearing Corleone address him as "Ser" rather than "Kingslayer," Jaime's green eyes flickered slightly.

He lowered his eyes a little and flicked the severed hand hanging against his chest with a finger of his left hand, making it sway.

"If you can reattach it, I guarantee my father will make you Grand Maester..."

"One million gold dragons."

"What?"

Jaime froze, then raised his head to find a serious face before him.

"Give me one million gold dragons, and I can try to reattach it."

Corleone repeated himself earnestly.

He was not joking. If he could top up with gold dragons and raise [Surgery] to lv5, perhaps he really could do it.

But this angered Jaime.

"Get away from me. I don't need your treatment!"

The lion who had lost his fangs and claws felt he was being toyed with and tried to wrench his arm away, but Corleone suddenly pressed precisely on the wound!

"Aah!!!"

Jaime cried out in pain. Cold sweat streamed down his head, and his body began to convulse.

"What are you do-"

"Pain sensation remains, which proves the nervous system is still functioning."

Just as Brienne was about to rebuke him, she saw Corleone calmly talking to himself.

"Congratulations, ser. Your life is in no immediate danger."

Only when Corleone released the finger pressing on his wound did Jaime begin gasping for breath, glaring at him furiously.

Yet Corleone seemed utterly unconcerned. He continued treating the injury and said evenly, "Among the Night's Watch, there's a ranger who's the best of them all."

"His name is Coldhands Colin. As the name suggests, half his right hand was sliced off in battle."

"But that man of the Night's Watch clearly had more perseverance than a certain member of the Kingsguard. Not only did he practice fighting with his left hand, he eventually trained it to be stronger than his right!"

"That's impossible!"

Jaime scoffed at this claim and snorted contemptuously. "No one in the world can train their left hand to be more skilled than their right, unless they're naturally left-handed."

Corleone still did not get angry. He merely shook his head. "Don't say it's impossible. Nothing is impossible."

"Coldhands Colin is well known. Send anyone to the North, and they'll be able to ask about him."

At these words, Jaime's eyes brightened, and something like a flame of hope seemed to kindle in their green depths.

He was not someone who wallowed in self-pity at every setback. Otherwise, he would not have continued serving in the Kingsguard for over a decade while bearing the name "Kingslayer."

Now that he had heard there was an example to follow, the proud Jaime certainly did not believe he would fall short of a mere man of the Night's Watch.

He looked at Corleone, whose eyes were full of wisdom, and asked in puzzlement, "Why do you know so much?"

"I'm not like you great personages, Ser Jaime."

Corleone answered patiently, "Someone as lowly as me has to keep his eyes open at all times."

"I draw close to my enemies rather than hate them, and then I get closer still. Only that way can I understand them better."

"You're going to fight back?"

Hearing Corleone speak so openly, Jaime lowered his voice and pressed him with a slight upward curl of his lips. "You alone? A... farmer who knows a little medicine?"

"Not me."

Carefully wrapping the severed wrist in gauze, Corleone gently patted Jaime's arm. "'Us,' my friend."

"Us?"

Jaime snorted again. "Look at the three of us. A farmer, a member of the Kingsguard who's lost his sword hand, and a... woman who was nearly raped?"

"Forgive my bluntness, but the moment we reach Harrenhal, they may well cut your head off."

"Of course. I'm well aware of that."

Corleone shrugged without denying it.

Given what Vargo Hoat and his lot were like, expecting them to feel grateful to the man who had saved a life was less realistic than hoping Brienne would turn into a well-mannered lady.

Yet under Jaime's gaze, Corleone unobtrusively moved a little closer and said quietly:

"But I understand one thing: women and children can afford to be careless, but men cannot. In the circumstances I live in, one careless mistake or a single wrong word could cost me my life."

"So, ser, let's talk business."

His tone was very calm, yet utterly serious, as though he truly were discussing a business deal of middling size.

"I'll be very careful, deal with the trouble we're facing, and take you and your friend back to King's Landing."

"And afterward, I hope to receive the payment I'm owed."

Listening to Corleone's utterly serious tone, Jaime moved his severed wrist, then exchanged a look with Brienne beside him.

In her eyes, Jaime saw only one word.

Do it!

Things couldn't get any worse anyway!

"A Lannister always pays his debts."

Jaime Lannister seemed to become that confident knight once more. Smiling, he said quietly, "As long as you can help us get back to King's Landing, I promise you'll receive enough gold dragons to fill an entire bathtub."

"But before that, I need to know your plan, Vito Corleone."

"I can't tell you too much, but I can reveal part of it first."

Corleone nodded. The candlelight left half his face shrouded in shadow and the other half in light.

"That second-in-command, Urswyck."

"He'll be our opening."

"You're planning to help him seize power?" Brienne could not help interjecting, disapproval in her voice.

"Jaime already tried every means to buy them off, but these sellswords have no honor at all..."

"No." Corleone shook his head, a meaningful smile curling his lips.

Then he slipped his hand into his pocket and felt the gold dragon he had kept close to his body all this time.

"Urswyck will help us, not because he wants to, but because he'll have no choice."

"I'll make him an offer... he can't refuse."