Chapter Text
The red brick building loomed up in front of Jaime. A regular set of offices, stuck in a street full of normal buildings, there was nothing to set it apart. The people on the street milling past Jaime didn’t give the smart front black door a wide berth, or fling little glances over their shoulder back at it. Probably none of them knew what it was. There was a small golden plaque set beside the door, but Jaime already knew from his scouting a few weeks ago that all it said was ‘Dr. Catelyn Stark.’ There was no other information given. No leaflet stuck to the door, advertising the services Dr Stark offered, or a discreet sign proclaiming what she was. It was one of the reasons Jaime had chosen to go with Dr Stark in the first place. Even if somebody saw him heading into the building, unless they looked her up online, nobody would know why he was coming here.
That, and she was one of the best in the world at what she did. Jaime had made sure to read all her reviews, and to do his research about Dr Stark before he’d phoned and booked an appointment.
Absent-mindedly, he scratched at the skin beneath the bandage wrapped around his left forearm, feeling the jagged lines and scars that cut through the soulmark there. He’d spent most of his years thinking about the soulmark and what he could do to it, and then ignoring it and pretending it didn’t exist. It would be strange having to concentrate on it now. Stranger, even to see a picture of it, which he knew would happen. Dr. Stark’s website had been very thorough about what her clients could potentially expect, and there had been several links, each talking through every part of the process, and the procedures one could be facing.
Jaime’s watch made a beeping sound, and he sighed, then pulled himself together. His appointment was at half past, but the letter confirming today had advised him to come ten minutes before. Dr Stark’s assistant would need to take some information from Jaime, so Dr Stark could be ready for him. Clients were allowed to opt out of this process if they liked, but Dr Stark stressed that everyone who worked for her could be trusted, and that this would help speed the process along.
There were three grey steps leading up to the front door, and Jaime took them, one of his hands grasping at the thin black railing along the side. This was stupid. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. Dr Stark would do what he was paying her for, and nothing else. She wouldn’t ask questions, other than those she needed answers to for medical purposes. And, anyway, Jaime had already spilled all his secrets to his therapist. The first time was always the hardest, wasn’t that what people said? After that it all became much easier.
Even so, Jaime couldn’t help wondering if anyone was watching him as he pulled on the door, and let himself into the building. He wondered if the people in the buildings opposite stared out their window, trying to distract themselves from a boring afternoon, wondering what his story was, why he required Dr Stark’s services.
He hoped not.
The lobby was empty. A medical office chair, with a padded cushion sat, slightly turned away from the sleek open laptop in front of it, behind an impressive cherry wood desk, to Jaime’s right. There was a door just at the end of the desk, with ‘Private’ stamped across on it a metal plate.
Jaime took a seat on the two-seater couch that faced the desk, and tried to settle his nerves. The floor was a pale golden colour, and he tried very hard to shift his mind away from the person’s whose hair that reminded him of, and the walls were a calming shade of buttercup yellow. The whole place smelt like beeswax and lavender, and there was pan-pipe music being played quietly from hidden speakers above his head.
Jaime wasn’t the only one who felt nervous coming here then. The thought reassured him slightly. He wasn’t the only one. There was a reason doctors like Catelyn Stark existed. He was just one of many. Hundreds of people had been through those doors before him, and a hundred would come after.
The door on the wall at the right from Jaime, which he’d taken to be Dr Stark’s room, opened and a woman emerged, carrying two empty mugs in her big hands. Jaime raised one eyebrow. He’d never seen a woman so big, and so broad before. She wasn’t fat, but she was tall; her shoulders and hips were wide, and she had a figure that was more male-like, than womanly. For a brief second Jaime wondered if he’d been mistaken, and it actually was a man, but no. Her facial features, while not delicate, were that of a woman.
‘Miss Tarth, I presume,’ he said, standing and holding a hand out for her. ‘We spoke on the phone to arrange the appointment. I’m Jaime Lannister.’
‘Of course,’ she said, transferring both cups to one hand, so she could shake his. Her grip was firm, and her fingers were calloused. Jaime wondered what she did in her spare time to make her fingers feel like that, but then she pulled her hand away, and walked behind the desk. ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t here to greet you Mr. Lannister. Dr Stark required some assistance.’ She placed the cups behind the desk, and took a seat in her chair. Even with her sitting, and Jaime standing, she was taller than him. Jaime himself was 6ft 2, and Miss Tarth had had a couple inches on him when standing.
‘No problem,’ he said. In all honestly, he wasn’t sure that if he’d spied her through the door, he would have been able to take the first step inside, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
‘It is a problem,’ she said. ‘I should have been here to greet you. That’s my job.’
‘Well, it’s too late to change things now, so why don’t we just pretend like you were here, and carry on with the rest?’ he suggested. He smiled at her, but she only frowned back at him, before she leaned down to grab some papers from a drawer.
‘Very well,’ she said. ‘Dr Stark requires you to answer a few questions before your first meeting. Just a few general things, nothing too personal. If you would like to wait and speak to the doctor first, that is completely understandable. However, I must inform you, that I will not speak a word of what you say in this room to anybody. If you wish to see the documents I’ve signed, stating how much I’ll be sued for if I talk about any clients, I can fetch those for you.’ She blinked blue eyes at him, and Jaime was struck for a moment by how extraordinarily pretty they were.
‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said. Apart from one conversation on the phone a month ago when he’d rung to book this appointment, he’d never spoken to this Miss Tarth before. But her plain face, with its big lips, and oddly shaped nose said it could be trusted.
Jaime had a feeling this was a person who wouldn’t spill secrets, not even under torture. ‘I trust you.’
‘Excellent,’ she said, and gestured for him to take his seat back on the couch. He did so, and at once felt like a baby. The sofa was low, and Miss Tarth, already a tall woman, was made even taller by the padded cushion on her chair. It was the one thing in the room that made him feel uncomfortable. ‘Just to make sure I have everything correct, I need you to confirm your name, address, date of birth and phone number,’ Miss Tarth said.
‘Jaime Lannister,’ he said, and then reeled off the rest of the information. He could see that she didn’t bother to write it down – instead she gave one short sharp nod to herself. He’d already noticed that his details had been typed at the top of the sheet of paper she’d pulled out, and that a fresh, empty set had been waiting next to her.
Miss Tarth was obviously a woman who had her job under control.
‘And, as I’m sure you’re aware, as with anything of this nature, there are some medical risks. We do everything to protocol here, and everything is clean, safe, and tidy, but we must read you the risks, and ask you to sign this,’ she said, handing some papers to him. Jaime nodded. He’d seen this on the website, and Miss Tarth had told him on their phone conversation as well.
‘I just need you to confirm who your next of kin is,’ she said, once Jaime had – pretended to - read the papers, signed, and handed them back. He’d read the risks himself already, and he knew most of what was to come. He could bleed out. There would be pain. Any number of horrible things could happen to him.
But that was true of what had brought him to this building in the first place. ‘Tyrion Lannister,’ he said. ‘My brother. Here.’ He slipped his brother’s business card onto the desk in front of Miss Tarth, and watched her face closely.
If she registered that the crimson card with the embossed golden lion was identical to the fanciest jewellery shop in all of London, she didn’t show it. She tucked the business card into her papers and copied the information down.
Either Miss Tarth didn’t know, or she’d already done her research when Jaime had first called. He’d put money on it being the second – she seemed like someone who found out as much as she could about the clients before they even entered the building -, but it could also have been the first. She wore no jewellery herself, just a black leather cuff that stretched from the end of her left hand, all the way to her elbow.
Jaime knew what she covered, but he also knew that if he asked about it, he’d get no answers. If someone was deliberately covering a part of their body, there was a reason for it.
‘And finally,’ Miss Tarth asked, ‘and, once again, if you don’t want to share this with me, then you don’t have to, but just to provide Dr Stark with a little more information before she greets you, can you just confirm the basics of what you’d like to achieve in your meetings with the doctor? As you know today is just a consultation, and Dr Stark will decide if she can help you further or not, after she’s got the full picture.’
‘Well,’ Jaime said, after a moment’s hesitation, ‘I need her to help with this.’ He peeled the bandage from his left arm, unwrapping the fraying edges and exposing the skin underneath for the first time in weeks. He’d kept it covered for years now, only changing the dressing when the bandages became too dirty.
His skin was a covered mass of puckered scars. They criss-crossed over each other, one or two running down to the crook in his elbow, the eldest one white against the pink ones, and stretching in a diagonal from his wrist to the very edge of his underarm.
You could barely make out the soulmark underneath it all.
Which, a few years ago, Jaime supposed had been the point.
It repulsed Jaime just to look at it, but to Miss Tarth’s credit, she simply nodded, and went back to writing her notes.
‘Is it the worst one you’ve seen?’ he asked her, screwing the bandage up in his hand. He’d have to leave it out to show Dr Stark anyway, and maybe it was good to get himself used to the mess of his arm again. He hadn’t looked at it like this for over a year. It seemed to him that new scars and cuts and lines had appeared on it, although he knew that wasn’t true. He could probably tell you the exact time and place they’d all been carved into his skin, and who had done it, too.
‘It’s bad, I’ll grant you,’ Miss Tarth said, ever the professional. ‘But you’ve come to the right place. As the world has developed, so has our medical understanding, and here, we use both the old ways and the new to fix client’s soulmarks and get them back to just how they were at the start.’ She gave him a bland smile. ‘I assure you, you are in the right hands.’
Jaime followed her as she stood up, and walked to the door she’d appeared from earlier. He assumed that was Dr Starks’ office.
He looked at the mess of his soulmark again, tracing the longest line, and trying hard to push his thought away from the memory it stirred. All that was in the past; hadn’t coming today proved that? He was finally ready. Ready to bring his soulmark back into the world again, ready to find the person it matched with, ready to open his heart to love again.
Or, at least he was ready to find his soulmark again. He hoped the rest would come after, although his therapist had told him that if it didn’t that would be okay. This was a good first step.
‘The doctor will see you now,’ Miss Tarth said, as she stepped away from the door, she’d slipped into not thirty seconds ago. ‘She’s just through here.’
‘It was nice to meet you, Miss Tarth,’ Jaime said, as he drew nearer to her. ‘I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other, a lot more frequently.’
‘I’m sure we will be,’ she said. Jaime stepped through the door, his feet sliding onto a dark grey carpet, and catching sight of an older red-haired woman, sitting behind a desk. As the door closed, he thought he heard a muttered ‘good luck, Mr Lannister,’ but there was a click, Miss Tarth’s face disappeared, and he couldn’t say for sure.
*
Half an hour after Jaime had entered Dr Stark’s office, the doctor sat back down in her chair, grabbed an anti-bacterial wipe from a packet on her desk and made eye contact with Jaime. Apart from a curt greeting when he’d entered, she’d been completely focused on his arm. Her fingers were deft and cool, as she turned his arm around, peering at it with clear eyes. She’d made several notes on a piece of paper she’d kept next to her, and mumbled into a small device she seemed to wear around her wrist. She’d asked his permission to take photos, and for ten minutes he’d felt more like a model than a patient.
‘What’s your professional opinion?’ he asked. He went to pull his left sleeve down, but stopped at the last moment. No more hiding.
‘Well,’ Dr Stark said, ‘you’ve gone to some trouble to make sure nobody can see your soulmark, haven’t you Mr Lannister?’ She remained grave faced, before a small smile took over. ‘But, with some more trouble and hard work, I’m confident we can fix it, and get back to what once was there.’ She shuffled the papers on her desk, giving Jaime a second to collect his thoughts. He knew recovering his soulmark was the reason he’d come here. That this was what he wanted.
But part of him was still trying to reject the idea. His soulmark had never been whole, not since the first moment it had appeared on his left forearm, when he was nine. He remembered. He’d been sitting at his kitchen table, trying to force himself to read the book his father had insisted he read before dinner, when the sword had bloomed in full on his arm. He’d watched, as blue and red and silver and grey spread across his previously unblemished flesh, as a lion’s head pommel with ruby eyes stared at him where before only tanned skin had been.
And then he’d hurried to his bathroom, and scrubbed and scrubbed, hoping it would come off, even though he knew it wouldn’t. He’d scrubbed with everything he could find, flannels, and a loofah, even a hair brush in his desperation. He’d scratched and washed until the skin around it had turned red and inflamed and blood spots had appeared on his arm.
‘When was the last time you saw it?’ Dr Stark asked. ‘Or did you cover it as soon as? I imagine after some of those cuts it needed bandages.’ She appraised him over the top of her laptop. ‘If you don’t remember anything about it, that’s okay too. We have ways around that.’ Her fingers tapped away at her keyboard, and Jaime knew she was pulling up a soulmark database. It wasn’t required that once a soulmark appeared on you that you registered it – there were too many other factors for a database to be all that useful – but if you did, you needed to provide a clear photo of the mark, so that even the smallest detail could be picked out. ‘Do you remember it?’
‘I do,’ Jaime said. The image had burned itself onto his brain, and it was still there, all these years later. ‘I never registered it, though. You won’t find a photo of it online.’ Dr Stark nodded.
‘Did you ever seek medical treatment after a damage?’ she asked. Jaime winced at the word. He knew that anything that caused harm to a soulmark was known as a damage, but he hated it. Damage was what you did to your car when you accidently clipped a wall – it wasn’t what you did when you tried to sever the link between you and the person meant for you.
‘No,’ Jaime said, shaking his head. ‘Not in a hospital, anyway.’ His method to deal with his damages had been to sneak away into a bathroom in the middle of the night, and try his best to soothe the fresh cuts.
‘Did you ever seek medical treatment for any other injury?’ Dr Stark asked.
‘I went to the emergency room once with a broken wrist,’ Jaime said. ‘When I was five. My soulmark didn’t appear until I was nine.’
‘No matter,’ Dr Stark said. ‘We have many other ways, and we may not even need to use them.’
‘Really, doc and what would those be?’ Jaime asked. He slumped back in the soft chair he was sitting in, letting his head face the ceiling. After the calmness of the outer chamber, this room was devoid of all personality. Everything was grey, white or black. No pictures hung on the walls, and there was no music. A cloth curtain split the room in two, and Jaime knew when he came back for treatment he’d be on the other side of it.
If he came back. He’d had nothing more than people looking at the mess on his arm today, and he was emotionally spent. Seeing the scars brought back old memories, ones he’d much rather forget. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to mix the emotional, and the physical pain together.
‘Well, some people don’t require us to find a photo of their soulmark,’ Dr Stark said, as though Jaime hadn’t just been rude to her. He imagined she got this kind of treatment all the time, and his admiration for her grew a little. ‘Sometimes, once we fix the damages to their mark, nothing else is required. They haven’t gone deep enough, they haven’t changed the shape, they haven’t slashed every line to pieces.’
‘We both know that won’t work for me,’ he said. He’d planned to go back to the office after this, but he wouldn’t be able to now. He’d have to call Tyrion, tell him he was taking a sick day. And use the rest of his holiday for his appointments. It wasn’t like he had anything better to use his days off for.
‘We do,’ Dr Stark said. ‘But you’ve told me that you remember your soulmark. It’s amazing, really. The amount of people who try to cut them off, or hide them, or do terrible things to their body so they don’t have to see them any longer – they all remember what their marks look like, some after only a split second of seeing the things.’
‘And what of those who’ve never seen them?’ Jaime asked. He’d heard the horror stories, growing up. Babies born with marks whose parents were disgusted, and who’d do anything to try and erase the soulmark. ‘I only saw mine because it bloomed right here on my arm,’ he said. ‘There’s no burning to tell someone when theirs has appeared. Some people can go years without noticing.’
‘That’s because soulmarks are magic, not science,’ said a voice from the door. Miss Tarth was standing there, a pad and pen in her hand. ‘There’s no rhyme or reason to them.’ She turned her face to Dr Stark. ‘You rang?’
‘I did,’ said Dr Stark. ‘With Jaime’s permission, I’d like to fix up an appointment with Renly.’ The doctor turned to Jaime. ‘Renly B is one of the artists we use here. He uses the description you give him and draws your soulmark, giving us a reference to work from. With cases like yours, it does help to have a frame of the mark in mind, just so we know what areas to work closely around.’ Her gaze dropped to his arm again. ‘Which areas we need to flatten out, which areas we can burn scar tissue away from without burning away a line of the mark, which parts might need a little retouching later down the line. But we’ll only call on Renly with your permission. I understand that sharing your soulmark is hard for some.’
‘And this Renly,’ Jaime asked, ‘he can be trusted?’ He’d thought only Dr Stark would know the ins and outs of his soulmark. He wasn’t sure how he felt about having to sit down, and talk about it with another person. Of having to describe how the sword had almost seemed to shimmer, how the red and blue had blended together to create a colour Jaime hadn’t seen before, how the lion’s head had stood proudly, even though it was just an image.
‘As much as we can,’ Dr Stark said. ‘I’ve worked with him for years, hiring him to do drawings for me. And Brienne used to work for him. In fact, he’s the reason she’s now here.’
‘You used to work for an artist?’ Jaime asked. The incredulity in his voice was badly hidden, and Miss Tarth flushed a bright red, and sent a glare Jaime’s way for a second, before the smooth mask of professionalism was back.
‘I studied to be an artist for many years,’ Miss Tarth said, stiffly. ‘Renly’s family knew mine, and he was making a name for himself in the soulmark business. When he heard I was looking for a job, he offered me one, and I stayed with him for a while.’
‘What made you come here?’ Jaime asked, curious. Going from drawing soulmarks all day, something Miss Tarth had obviously done because she found passion in it, to being an assistant seemed like a jump.
‘A few reasons,’ Miss Tarth said, but she left it there and offered no more details. Jaime felt his interest growing. ‘When would you like me to book the appointment for?’ she asked, turning back to her boss.
‘If Jaime gives his permission,’ Dr Stark said, and Jaime nodded, slumping forward, his mind going back to his current situation. He was here. He’d made the first step, and there was no point backing out of anything they wanted him to do now. ‘Then set up the appointment for Jaime’s next session.’ Miss Tarth scribbled a note on her pad, and Jamie found himself smiling. It was rare to see someone not typing into their phone, but actually using a pad and pen now days.
Dr Stark drew a slim black notebook from beneath her desk, and flipped through it, as Miss Tarth vanished back to the reception. ‘Now, Mr Lannister, I think the best course of action is a weekly appointment. I estimate this treatment will take around four months, give or take a few weeks for any prolonged healing, or unexpected personal issues cropping up. Are there any particular days or times that would suit you?’
‘Whenever you have time is fine,’ Jaime said. One of the perks of being the heir to a business meant taking time off whenever you needed to.
One of the perks of being not good enough to take over the company meant you didn’t have to work as hard, and that your father would just see you taking a lot of time off as one more mark against you.
‘I’d like to stick with Thursdays if that’s okay? Excellent.’ Dr Stark slipped the diary back under her desk and stood up. ‘My assistant will send you a rough guide of the next four months appointments in the next few days. It should tell you what to expect from each session, although I do have to point out that as we continue along our course, they may change.’
‘Whatever you say, doc,’ Jaime said, standing up and shaking her hand. He carefully wrapped his soulmark in the bandage he’d taken off earlier, and Dr Stark made no comment about it. ‘You’re the expert.’
‘I am,’ she said, walking him over to the door, and showing him out. ‘Until next time, Mr Lannister.’
She closed the door behind him, and Jaime made his way to the desk. Miss Tarth was sat behind it, a neatly bound pile of papers in front of her.
‘Mr Lannister,’ she called out when she spotted him. ‘If you’re okay to hang around for a few moments, while I confirm a few things with you.’
Jaime, who now the session was over, wanted nothing more to be free of this place, nodded. They had to make sure everything was set up so there would be no issues down the line. They were just doing their jobs.
‘As Dr Stark explained, I’ll be sending over a detailed plan of your treatment course in the next few days,’ Miss Tarth said. ‘Although some of the sessions may be subject to change.’
‘Yes,’ Jaime said.
‘The treatment Dr Stark has planned for you should take around four months, with a session each week, not accounting for any prolonged healing time or personal issues?’
‘Yes,’ Jaime said again. These women were polished, and they’d obviously done this dance a hundred times. Jaime hated that he felt a little annoyed by this. He was a Lannister. He prided himself on always being memorable, even if it was sometimes for the wrong reasons. He had grown up being told to leave an impression on whoever he met, on his father’s insistence that being a Lannister meant something and that everyone else in the world needed to know that too.
But here, he wasn’t a Lannister. He was just another patient, and although his soulmark damage was bad, he got the impression it wasn’t the worst Dr Stark had seen.
‘Payment will be made each week, through the account information you gave us when you first contacted us? This is your invoice for today’s session,’ Miss Tarth said, pointing at the top piece of paper on the pile in front of her.
Jaime nodded, wondering what his father would make of this. Tywin Lannister still insisted on being in charge of Jaime’s, Tyrion’s, and Cersei’s funds, even though all three of them were grown. Their money came from his company, and he would be dammed if they threw it away on pointless junk.
Jaime hadn’t told anyone in his family he was doing this. He couldn’t imagine that his father would object, but it would cause a conversation and Jaime wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.
‘Excellent,’ Miss Tarth said, making a little note on a pad in front of her. ‘Then this is for you,’ she said, shoving the pile of papers at him. ‘It’s some more detailed readings on the list of treatments you’ll be subjected to over the next few months. There’s websites and helpline numbers you can call if you have any questions, and of course you have our office number. If you need anything, please do just call.’ She gave a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and turned back to her computer. ‘I’ll send over the schedule in the next few days, and once I’ve spoken to Renly, I’ll confirm your appointment for next week as well. Have a good day Mr Lannister.’
Jaime nodded his goodbye, then left, taking deep breathes as he walked back into the breezy air. His heart was beating faster than usual, and he was clutching the sheet of papers too tightly. He needed to calm down. It was over, he didn’t have to think about this for a week, he could shove it to the back of his mind, why wasn’t he moving, why couldn’t he do anything....
‘Here,’ said a voice, and a paper cup of water was placed into his hand. Jaime drank it, as he followed instructions to close his eyes and focus on his breathing until it was better under control. After a few minutes his heart was a normal pace and he felt a little calmer. At least he could move his legs again.
‘Thank you,’ he said. He was unsurprised when he turned around to find Miss Tarth beside him.
‘No problem,’ she said. ‘You’re not the first to suffer a panic attack once you’ve left. It’s a lot to take in for your first session. It’s a long road to look down, and there’s a lot to overcome.’
‘It is a lot,’ Jaime agreed.
‘The aftermath gets easier,’ she said. She took the cup back from Jaime. ‘I’ve been here a few years now, and nine times out of ten, people fare better after their second session. The pain is their main focus.’
‘Thank you,’ Jaime said, ‘that does make me feel much better.’ For a brief second, he thought he saw a flash of a smile on her face, before she bid him goodbye and went back into the offices behind them.