Harrenhal's bathhouse was a dim, steamy, low-ceilinged room filled with great stone tubs. When they led Jaime in, they found Brien seated in one of them, scrubbing his arm almost angrily.

"Not so hard, boy," She called. "You'll scrub the skin off," He dropped his brush and covered himself with hands as big as Gregor Clegane's, flushing.

"What are you doing here?" 

"Lord Bolton insists I sup with him, but he neglected to invite my fleas," Jaime tugged at her guard's sleeve. "Leave us. I've had enough of the likes of you gaping at my teats," No one mentioned her mistake. She pointed at the hatchet-faced woman who had been sent to attend her. "You too. Wait without. There's only the one door, the boy is too big to try and shinny up a chimney, and how far do you think I'll get like this?"

The habit of obedience went deep. The woman followed her guard out, leaving the two of them alone. Jaime finally rid herself of the stinking rags that had once been clothes and climbed in with the boy, awkward and slow. She felt a hundred years old, which was a lot better than she had been feeling when she arrived here.

"There are other tubs," Brien actually shrunk away from her, averting his eyes from her nakedness, which amused her. Perhaps he expected her to be shy and shamed after what had befallen her. Jaime had no intention of that; there was a large difference between taking a bath with a man she knew would rather die than touch her, and being forced onto her back by three of the Bloody Mummers. 

"This one suits me well enough," She longed to submerge herself in the water, but Qyburn had warned her to keep her bandages dry. "Have no fear, boy. I'm not whore enough to jump you," Ignoring the way he stuttered at that, she could feel the tension drain from her legs, the accumulated dirt soaking away, along with lingering traces of the men who had violated her. Jaime's head spun. "If I faint, pull me out. No Lannister has ever drowned in the bath and I don't mean to be the first,"

"Why should I care how you die?"

"You swore a solemn vow," She smiled as a red flush crept up his neck. He still didn't make any move to uncover his lap. "Still the shy maiden then, boy? What is it that you think I haven't seen?"

She groped for the brush he had dropped and began to scrub herself. Even that was difficult, as her chest still burned with every stretch, but it was worth it, for the satisfaction of removing the filthy touch of the Bloody Mummers from her skin. The boy kept his eyes averted, the muscles in his great shoulders hunched and hard.

"Does the sight of my mutilation distress you so?" Jaime asked. If even this one can't stand the sight of me, what will Cersen think? "Or is it the one that's left?" She gave a sharp smile. "You ought to be pleased. My whoring days are surely behind me. Although I can't say you were particularly successful with regard to seeing me to King's Landing in one piece," She drew closer, so looking at her was unavoidable, irritated by his lack of reaction. "No wonder Renly died, with you guarding him,"

He jerked to his feet as if she'd struck him, sending a wash of hot water across the tub. Jaime caught a glimpse of him as he climbed out. He was much hairier than her brother. Larger, too. Absurdly, she felt a twinge lower down. Now I know I have been too long away from Cersen. She averted her eyes, troubled by her body's response. 

"That was unworthy," She mumbled. "I'm a maimed woman, and bitter. Forgive me, Brien. You protected me better than most men could have. Would have,"

"Do you mock me?" He wrapped his nakedness in a towel.

"Are you as thick as a castle wall?" Jaime snapped angrily. "That was an apology. I am tired of fighting with you. What say we make a truce?"

"Truces are built on trust. Would you have me trust - "

"The Kingslayer, yes. The whore who murdered poor sad Aerys Targaryen," She snorted. "It's not Aerys I rue, it's Robert. 'I hear they've named you Kingslayer' he said to me as we danced at his coronation feast. 'Just don't think to make it a habit.' And he laughed, before trying to grab my arse. Why is it that no one names Robert oathbreaker? He tore the realm apart, yet I am the one with shit for honour,"

"Robert did all he did for love," 

"Robert did all he did for pride, a cunt, and a pretty face," She scowled, jaw tightening.

"He rode to save the realm," He insisted. To save the realm. Who do you think he was saving it from?

"Aerys would have bathed in wildfire if he'd dared. The Targaryens were all mad for fire," Jaime felt lightheaded. It is the heat in here, the last of my fever. I am not myself. She eased herself down until the water reached just below the bandages, leaving her remaining breast more than visible. She didn't care. "Call me a whore, a traitor... I wore my gold dress that day, but..."

"Gold dress?" His voice sounded far off. She floated in heat, in memory.

"After the dancing griffins Hand lost the Battle of the Bells, Aerys exiled him." Why am I telling this absurd ugly man? "He had finally realised that Robert was no mere outlaw lord, but the greatest threat House Targaryen had faced since Daemon Blackfyre. The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the Dornish army. Rhaegar returned from the south and persuaded his father to swallow his pride and write to Lord Tywin. My father had resigned his position on some weak excuse after Aerys refused to listen to him that burning Lord Stark was dangerous folly. The condition for him to leave King's Landing and raise his troops was that he left me a ward of the king. Ward, as if! I was a hostage in all but name. But no raven returned from Casterly Rock,"

Once she started the telling, she couldn't stop. It was a story she had not told another soul, not in fifteen years. Even Cersen didn't know it, nor her father. Yet to Ser Brien of Tarth, Jaime spoke of how Aerys had used the pyromancers to plant caches of wildfire under the entire city, in the utmost secrecy, how the Hand, Lord Chelstead - the latest in a long line of failures struggling to fill her father's position - had worked out the truth. 

"He took off his chain of office and flung it down on the floor. Aerys burnt him alive for that, and hung his chain about the neck of Rossart, his favorite pyromancer. And all the time, I stood by the foot of the Iron Throne, still as a corpse, my liege's pet, a stupid little girl expected to keep all his sweet secrets," She smiled wryly. "Never underestimate stupid little girls.

"The Kingsguard were all away, you see, apart from young Ser Aredan Sarsfield. I would've preferred to have spent my days with Rhaella, Elia and her children, but Aerys liked to keep me close. I was Lord Tywin's daughter, dull-witted and naive as he thought me, so he did not trust me, made me swear on my knees I would never betray him. He wanted me where Varys could watch me, day and night. So I heard it all, along with Ser Aredan," She remembered how Rossart's eyes would shine when he unrolled his maps to show where the substance must be placed. Garigus and Belis were the same. 

She continued, speaking of the Trident, Rhaegar's death, of Rhaella and Viserys being sent to Dragonstone whilst Elia and the children were kept behind. At the time, Jaime had been rather glad for it. At least with Elia there, she was not completely alone and friendless. Of course, she had come to regret that, as Aerys' madness grew. 

"The traitors want my city, I heard him tell Rossart, but I'll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be king over charred bones and cooked meat. If truth be told, I do not believe he truly expected to die. Like Aerion Brightfire before him, Aerys thought the fire would transform him... that he would rise again, reborn as a dragon, and turn all his enemies to ash,"

She told how Pycelle counselled the king to open the gates to Lord Tywin's long-awaited army, where Varys advised caution, all whilst Ned Stark was racing south with Robert's vanguard from the Trident, attempting to get there before the Lannister army made it to help defend the city. He was too late, but it did not matter. Once the gates were opened, her father had joined the rebels and sacked the city. 

"It fell to poor young Ser Aredan to hold the Red Keep, but he knew we were lost. I knew it too. I was in the throne room when he sent to Aerys, asking his leave to make terms of surrender. Instead of replying to the last Kingsguard in the city, the king turned to me, his ward, with a royal command. 'Bring me your father's heart, if you are no traitor.' He gave me his own dagger," She smiled, shaking her head. "Aerys would have no yielding. Lord Rossart was with him as I left. I knew what that meant.

"I waited in the shadows and followed Rossart as he left. He was dressed as a common man-at-arms, hurrying to a postern gate. I slew him first, with the king's dagger. Then I took his sword and slew Aerys, before he could find someone else to carry his message to the pyromancers. Days later, Aredan Sarsfield, now forever called Ser Aredan The Unaware for allowing a little girl to kill his king, hunted down Belis and Garigus and slew them as well,"

The water had grown cool. When Jaime opened her eyes, she found herself staring at her sword hand. The hand that made me Kingslayer. The boy looked ridiculous, clutching his towel around his hips with thick white legs sticking out beneath. 

"Has my tale turned you speechless? Come, curse me or kiss me or call me a liar. Something,"

"If this is true, how is it no one knows? Neither of you told anyone,"

"We both swore on our knees not to betray the king's secrets. Would you have me break my oath?" Jaime laughed. "Do you think anyone wanted to hear my opinion, my explanations? Had a knight killed Aerys, no one would have blinked, but because it was me I must be unnatural, hysterical, half-mad, treacherous," She lurched to her feet, the water running cold down her body. "I was a murderess the moment they saw me," 

A violent shiver took her, and she smashed her hand against the rim of the tub as she tried to climb out. The movement stretched her wound again. Pain shuddered through her, and suddenly the bathhouse was spinning. 

Brien caught her before she could fall. His arm was clammy and chilled, but he was strong, and gentler than she would have thought, as he helped her from the tub, her legs wobbly. Gentler than Cersen. 

"Guards!" She heard him shout. "The Kingslayer!"

Jaime, she thought, my name is Jaime.

The next she knew, she was lying on the floor with the guards and Brien and Qyburn all standing over her looking concerned. Brien was naked, but he seemed to have forgotten that for the moment. Jaime wore nothing either. 

"The heat of the tubs will do it," Qyburn was telling them. "There's still poison in her blood as well, and she's malnourished. What have you been feeding her?"

"Worms and piss and grey vomit," Jaime offered.

"Hardbread and water and oat porridge," The guard insisted, glancing down at her body without even trying to pretend he wasn't. "She don't hardly eat it, though. What should we do with her?"

"Scrub her and dress her and carry her to Kingspyre, if need be," Qyburn said. "Lord Bolton insists she will sup with him tonight. The time is growing short,"

"Bring me clean garb for her," Brien said. "I'll see that she's washed and dressed," Jaime felt an absurd stab of gratitude.

The guards were not particularly glad to give up the task to him, and there were definitely several muttered crude comments about exactly why he wanted to dress her himself, but they did as he asked, lifting her to her feet and sitting her on a stone bench by the wall. Brien went away to retrieve his towel, and returned with a stiff brush to finish scrubbing her. 

Qyburn brought a linen shift, black boots and a dark blue velvet gown. Jaime was feeling less dizzy by then, though no less clumsy. With the boy's help she managed to dress herself, discovering the gown was high-necked, far from her usual attire, although she was rather glad for that. Half the bodice was pitifully hollow, but it was better than a gaping low neckline. I can always stuff a cushion down there. Qyburn had guessed her measurements unnervingly well, and she wondered what exactly he'd been doing when she had passed out in his company earlier. 

The Bloody Maester had brought fresh clothing for Brien as well; a loose yellow tunic the size of a tent, clean woolen breeches and a leather jerkin. It was evident the moment he put the jerkin on and couldn't do up the laces that the garment was too small, making Jaime chuckle. A dozen cruel japes leaped into her head, but for once she kept them there.

It was half an hour before she felt strong enough to stand. After the dim wet warmth of the bathhouse, the air outside was a slap across the face, which did serve to wake her up slightly. 

"M'lord will be looking for her by now," A guard told Qyburn. "Him too. Do I need to carry her?"

"I can still walk. Brien, give me your arm,"

Clutching him, Jaime let them herd her across the yard to a vast draughty hall, larger even than the throne room in King's Landing. In the centre of that immense emptiness, at a trestle table surrounded by what seemed like acres of slate floor, the Lord of the Dreadfort waited, attended by a cupbearer.

"My lord," Brien said when they stood before him. Roose Bolton's eyes were paler than stone, and his voice was spider soft. 

"I am pleased that you are strong enough to attend me after such treatment, my lady. Please, do be seated," He gestured at the spread that covered the table. "Will you drink red or white? Of indifferent vintage, I fear. Ser Amory drained Lady Whent's cellars nearly dry,"

"I trust you killed him for it," Jaime slid into the chair quickly, so Bolton could not see how weak she was. "White is for Starks. I'll drink red like a good Lannister,"

"I would prefer water," Brien said.

"Elmar, the red for Lady Jaime, water for Ser Brien, and hippocras for myself," Bolton waved a hand at their escort, dismissing them. He helped himself to a prune. "Do try these, Lady Jaime. They are most sweet, and help move the bowels as well. Lord Vargo took them from an inn before he burnt it,"

"My bowels move fine, that goat's no lord, and your prunes don't interest me half so much as your intentions,"

"Regarding you?" A faint smile touched Bolton's lips. "You are a perilous prize, my lady. You sow dissension wherever you go. Even here, in my happy house of Harrenhal. And in Riverrun as well, it seems. Do you know, Edmure Tully has offered a thousand golden dragons for your recapture?" Despite herself, Jaime smiled slightly. That's a lords ransom... She was no warrior, no battle commander, just a woman, and should be as useless as the two Stark girls in King's Landing. By rights, they should have exchanged her for them months ago. But Robb Stark had held her tight in his grasp. What exactly is it you think I'll do if I'm free?

"My brother will pay ten times as much," Until he sees my injury, that is. Then who knows. 

They spoke of Lord Karstark's offer, to give his daughter's hand to whoever brought him Jaime's head. Bolton then surprised Jaime by saying he had wed Fat Walda Frey, and was giving Harrenhal to Vargo Hoat. Edmure Tully was to wed Roslin Frey in place of Robb Stark, who had married the daughter of a Westerlands bannerman, Jeyne Westerling, angering the Freys in breaking the betrothal. Elmar Frey, Bolton's cupbearer, had been meant to wed Stark's sister Arya, but that betrothal had been broken as well with news of Stark's marriage. This, of course, caught Brien's interest.

"Is there word of Arya Stark?" He leaned forward. "Lady Catelyn had feared that... is the girl still alive?"

"Oh, yes," Bolton said.

"You have certain knowledge of that, my lord?"

"Arya Stark was lost for a time, it was true, but now she has been found," He shrugged. "I mean to see her returned safely to the north,"

"Her and her sister both," Brien said. "Tyrion Lannister has promised us both girls for his sister," That seemed to amuse the Lord of the Dreadfort. 

"Ser, has no one told you? Lannisters lie,"

"Is that a slight on the honour of my House?" Jaime's eyes narrowed, as she picked up the cheese knife. "A rounded point, and dull," She slid her thumb along the edge of the blade. "But it will go through your eye all the same," She could only hope she did not look as feeble as she felt. Bolton's little smile reappeared fleetingly. 

"You speak boldly for a woman. One needs help to reach some bread. My guards are all around us, I remind you,"

"All around us, and half a league away," Jaime glanced down the vast length of the hall, smiling her best dazzling smile. "By the time they reach us, you'll be as dead as Aerys," She would do it too - she was not one to back down from her threats - but hoped it didn't come to it. The man was not particularly large, but bigger than she was, and she had gracelessly destroyed any element of surprise she might have. 

"'Tis scarcely chivalrous to threaten your host over his own cheese and olives," Bolton scolded. "In the north, we hold the laws of hospitality sacred still," His words chilled her slightly, but, unsure as to why, she ignored it, suddenly angry. 

"I'm a captive here, not a guest. Your goat mutilated me, and I'm sure you knew full well what happens to women in his tender care, even before Ser Brien all but blurted it out in the middle of the courtyard. If you think some prunes will make me overlook that, you're bloody well mistaken," Roose Bolton looked taken aback, though that might have been a show. Something about his manner told Jaime that this man could quite easily watch a dozen women being raped and murdered, and be only mildly irritated at the mess. 

"Perhaps I am. Perhaps I ought to make a wedding gift of you to Edmure Tully... or strike your head off, as your brother did for Eddard Stark,"

"I would not advise it. Casterly Rock has a long memory,"

"A thousand leagues of mountain, sea, and bog lie between my walls and your rock. Lannister enmity means little to Bolton,"

"Lannister friendship could mean much," Jaime thought she knew the game they were playing now. But does the boy know as well? She dare not look to see.

"I am not certain you are the sort of friends a wise man would want,"

"My lord," Brien said. "Lady Jaime is to be exchanged for Lady Catelyn's daughters. You must free us to continue on our way,"

"The raven that came from Riverrun told of an escape, not an exchange. And if you helped this captive slip her bonds, you are guilty of treason, Ser,"

"I serve Lady Stark," The big knight rose to his feet. Jaime rolled her eyes. 

"And I the King in the North. Or the King Who Lost the North, as some now call him," Bolton said mildly. "Who never wished to trade Lady Jaime back to the Lannisters,"

"Sit down and eat, Brien," Jaime urged, tugging at his elbow. "If Bolton meant to kill us, he wouldn't be wasting his precious prunes on us, at such peril to his bowels,"

"Ser Brien, will you sit if I tell you that I hope to send Lady Jaime on, just as you and Lady Stark desire?" Roose Bolton cut his meat methodically, the blood running across his plate.

"I... you'd send us on?" The boy sounded wary, but he sat. "That is good, my lord,"

"It is. However, Lord Vargo has created me one small... difficulty," He turned his pale eyes on Jaime. "Do you know why Hoat mutilated you as he did?"

"He enjoys cutting off teats," Jaime could still feel it burn. "He enjoys cutting off hands and feet as well. He doesn't seem to need a reason,"

Bolton explained the disadvantage that the Lannisters winning the Blackwater had put Hoat at after he turned his cloak to the Boltons. 

"By maiming you, he meant to diminish your value to me. For he is my man, as I am King Robb's man. Thus his crime is mine, or may seem so in your father's eyes. And therein lies my... small difficulty," He gazed at Jaime, his pale eyes unblinking, expectant, chill. I see. 

"You want me to absolve you of blame. To tell my father that this injury is no work of yours," Jaime laughed. "My lord, send me to King's Landing, and I'll sing as sweet a song as you could want, of how gently you treated me," Any other answer, she knew, and Bolton would give her back to the goat. "I'll write it out if you like. How I was maimed by the sellsword my own father brought to Westeros, and saved by the noble Lord Bolton,"

"I will trust to your word, my lady,"There's something I don't often hear. "You will leave when Qyburn says you are strong enough, with a strong escort under the command of my captain, Steelshanks Walton. He will see you safe and whole to King's Landing," Rather too late for that. 

"Provided Lady Catelyn's daughters are delivered safe and whole as well," Brien said. "My lord, your man Walton's protection is welcome, but the girls are my charge."

"The girls need not concern you any further, ser," Bolton gave him an uninterested glance. "The Lady Sansa is the dwarf's wife, only the gods can part them now,"

"His wife?" Brien said, appalled. "The Imp? But... he swore, before the whole court, in sight of gods and men..."

He is such an innocent. Jaime was almost as surprised, in truth, but she hid it better. Tyrion and Sansa Stark. Father could hardly have chosen a crueller match for either of them.

"What the Imp did or did nor swear scarcely matters now," Bolton said. "Least of all to you," The boy looked almost wounded. "Lady Jaime will continue on to King's Landing. I said nothing about you, I fear. It would be unconscionable of me to deprive Lord Vargo of both his prizes," The Lord of the Dreadfort reached out to pick another prune. "Were I you, Ser, I should worry less about Starks and rather more about sapphires,"

*

I'm not particularly proud of this chapter, given there is so much from the original that can't be cut so the story makes sense, yet there was little opportunity to make too many changes, particularly from the conversation with Bolton. I also had to cut a lot from Jaime's monologue about Aerys; it's one of my favourite scenes in the books but once again there was very little to change in parts of it, so away it went. 

Either way, I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading.