Jaime Lannister took a deep breath, somewhat calming his erratic heart, stood up and headed towards the polished silver mirror on the wall. It was the sole ornament in his bare room beside the bed, cloak hanger, and the small clothes rack. He was greeted by a tired, weathered face with heavy purple bags beneath his eyes. His flowing golden hair was a thing of the past - he had always cut it short now, and only a few errant strands were still barely resisting the brutal onset of time.