Though her fever lingered, the wound was healing, and Qyburn said the rest of her was no longer in danger. Jaime was anxious to be gone, to put Harrenhal, the Bloody Mummers, and Ser Brien of Tarth all behind her. Her children waited for her in the Red Keep, along with Cersen, though who knew what that would bring.

"I am sending Qyburn with you, to look after you on the way to King's Landing," Roose Bolton said on the morning of their departure. "He has a fond hope that your father will force the Citadel to give him back his chain, in gratitude,"

"We all have fond hopes. If he grows me back a breast, my father might make him Grand Maester,"

Steelshanks Walton commanded Jaime's escort; blunt, brusque, brutal, at heart a simple soldier. Jaime had known his sort before. Such men obeyed without question, but the deep malignant cruelty of the Brave Companions was not a part of their nature. 

It was only the one party that left Harrenhal that morning. Bolton was due to march north-east for Edmure Tully's wedding, though not for a good few weeks. The wedding had been delayed, apparently, though the reasons for this were not so clear. 

"You will give my warm regards to your father?" Bolton asked Jaime, there to see them off.

"So long as you give mine to Robb Stark," She smiled wryly. 

"That I shall,"

Some Brave Companions had gathered in the yard to watch them leave. Jaime trotted over to where they stood, forcing a sharp smile on her face despite the surge of deepest hatred she felt at the sight of them. 

"Zollo. How kind of you to see me off. Pyg. Timeon. Will you miss me? No last jest to share, Shagwell? To lighten my way down the road? And Rorge, did you come to kiss me goodbye?" Though still thinner than she would like, Jaime knew she looked far more like herself now than she had done on the road, riding side-saddle in a clean and fine, well-fitted dress, her face scrubbed of any dirt and all the tangles and mats brushed out of her hair. She had come to quite like the lightness of having her hair cut above her shoulders. I might keep it that way.

"Bugger off, whore," Rorge said, ever eloquent.

"If you insist. Rest assured, though, I will be back," Her smile set coldly, and she felt Lord Tywin's stare form in her eyes. "A Lannister always pays their debts," And believe me, I'll enjoy buggering you all with a red hot poker and feeding your cocks to the pigs. 

Without waiting for a reply, Jaime wheeled her horse around and kicked it into a trot.

She had heard the things her guards muttered when they thought she couldn't hear. Evidently Rorge, Zollo and Shagwell - especially Shagwell, cursed fool - had been rather proud of themselves for having the infamous Kingslayer on her back, and wished for as many of the garrison as possible to know it. As usual, Jaime met it all with a sharp tongue and outward carelessness, but her rage was constantly simmering beneath the surface, and it was all she could do to keep smiling and not grab her borrowed sword to gut each one of them.

She quickly rejoined Steelshanks Walton and his men.

Lord Bolton had given her the clothes of a lady, even including a bundle of rags to serve as chest padding so she wouldn't look off balance. There was no sword, of course, though she had soon remedied that with a trip to the armoury. The weapon was now strapped to her saddle, and her smile dared any of the men to say a word against it. Jaime had also hidden a small dagger in her skirts, just in case. No one will catch me off guard again. The next man to try her would end up with that knife in their chest. 

They left through Harrenhal's smaller gate, turning south. Walton meant to avoid the kingsroad as long as he could, preferring the farmer's tracks and game trails near the Gods Eye.

"The kingsroad would be faster," Jaime was anxious to return as quickly as possible. If they made haste, she might even arrive in time for Joffrey's wedding.

"I want no trouble," Steelshanks said. "Gods know who we'd meet along that kingsroad,"

"No one you need fear, surely? You have two hundred men,"

"Aye. But others might have more. M'lord said to bring you safe to your lord father, and that's what I mean to do,"

I have come this way before, Jaime reflected a few miles further on, when they passed a deserted mill beside the lake. Weeds now grew where once a miller's son had gaped at her like she was the maiden herself when she smiled at him.

"Is your chest troubling you?" Qyburn fell in beside her.

"The lack of my breast is troubling me," The mornings were the hardest. Each dawn Jaime would forget, and briefly wonder why she felt the weight on one side, and emptiness on the other.

"You did take the - "

"Yes," She smiled at him, a warning not to speak of the matter any further. "Of course I did," The moon tea had been delivered to her by a serving girl named Pia, and Jaime had drunk every last drop, hating the look the girl gave her. Sympathy. Pia was apparently known in Harrenhal for an apparent inability to say no, not that many of this lot would care if she did. Sympathy and understanding from a whore giving me moon tea... sympathy from a victim. Jaime knew which comparison she resented more. 

Several cutting remarks had risen to her lips, an attempt to disillusion herself that she could salvage her pride, but they had died as the girl chattered obliviously on, about seeing her at Lord Whent's tourney, seventeen years ago. Pia had looked at Jaime and longed to be her, she claimed, wished with every bone in her body to be that beautiful, that confident, dress in fine gowns and be courted by great lords. Jaime had looked up from her moon tea, never more aware how much of a shadow of that girl she was now, and laughed bitterly.

"I wish I could be me at fifteen too," The girl's eyes had widened in regret, as apologies began to spill from her lips, but Jaime cut her off. "You can come with me, to King's Landing, if you like," She wasn't sure what made her say it. Pia was in her early twenties, not even ten years younger than Jaime herself, but still seemed to have the eyes of a foolish young maiden, despite having been with hundreds of men. "I'll need a handmaid who doesn't flinch at the sight of my chest. And I can't imagine you'll enjoy staying here at the mercy of the Bloody Mummers," Pia's eyes filled with tears, and she almost regretted saying anything at all.

"Thank you, my lady. Thank you," The girl sounded so piteously grateful that Jaime had felt both oddly pleased with herself and highly uncomfortable.

Pia currently rode in the baggage train of their party, having made friends with several of the guards already. Jaime turned her mind back to Qyburn.

"Is there any news of the knight's ransom? Ser Brien,"

"You have not heard?" Qyburn gave a shrug. "We had a bird from Lord Selwyn. In answer to mine. The Evenstar offers three hundred dragons for his son's safe return. I had told Lord Vargo there were no sapphires on Tarth, but he will not listen. He is convinced the Evenstar intends to cheat him,"

"Three hundred dragons is a fair ransom for a knight," She frowned. "The goat should take what he can get,"

"The goat is Lord of Harrenhal, and the Lord of Harrenhal does not haggle,"

The news irritated her, though she supposed she should have seen it coming. The lie spared you awhile, boy. Be grateful for that much. They'd likely slit his throat and squabble over his armour the moment they realised his father wasn't able to give them his weight in sapphires. Jaime felt a stab of concern, and ruthlessly quashed it. 

Qyburn's companionship was wearing on her, and she was in no mood for Pia's wide-eyed chatter, so she trotted toward the head of the column. A round little northman called Nage went before Steelshanks with the peace banner; a rainbow-striped flag on a staff topped by a seven-pointed star. 

"Shouldn't you northmen have a different sort of peace banner?" She asked. "What are the Seven to you?"

"Southron gods," Walton said. "But it's a southron peace we need, to get you safe to your father,"

My father. Jaime wondered whether Lord Tywin had received the goat's demand for ransom, and any news of her injury. What is a mutilated woman he can't hope to marry off again worth? Half the gold in Casterly Rock? Three hundred dragons? Or nothing? Her father had never been unduly swayed by sentiment. And now you have a cripple for a daughter as well as a dwarf for a son, my lord. How you will hate that.

By evenfall they had left the lake to follow a rutted track through a wood. Jaime's chest was throbbing dully when Steelshanks decided to make camp. While Walton set the watches, she stretched out near the fire and propped a rolled-up bearskin against a stump as a pillow for her head. Brien would have told her she had to eat before she slept, to keep her strength up, but she was more tired than hungry. She closed her eyes, and despite herself, hoped to dream of Cersen, as they were before all of this. The fever dreams were all so vivid.

- Dream -

She awoke screaming. 

"No. No, no, no. No!"

Heart pounding, Jaime found herself in starry darkness amidst a grove of trees. She could taste bile in her mouth, and she was shivering with sweat, hot and cold at once. When she looked down, she was missing one breast. She felt sudden tears well up in her eyes.

"Lady Jaime?" Pia, who slept beside her as they were the only two women in the camp, had sat up, eyes wide. "Are you alright?"

"My lady," Qyburn knelt beside her, his fatherly face crinkled with concern. "What is it? I heard you cry out,"

"What is it?" Steelshanks stood above them, tall and dour. "Why did you scream?"

"A dream... only a dream," Jaime stared at the camp around her. "I was in the dark, but I had - I was whole," She looked down and felt sick all over again. There's no place like that beneath the Rock. Her stomach was sour and empty, and her head was pounding where she'd pillowed it against the stump. Qyburn felt her brow. 

"You still have a touch of fever,"

"A fever dream," Jaime reached up. "Help me," Steelshanks took her by the hand and pulled her to her feet, Pia hovering at her elbow.

"Was it the Mummers, milady?" The girl asked, concerned, but Jaime ignored her aside from a brief shake of the head. 

"Another cup of dreamwine?" Qyburn asked.

"No. I've dreamt enough," She wondered how long it was till dawn. Somehow she knew that if she closed her eyes, she would be back in that dark place again.

"Milk of the poppy, then? And something for your fever? You are still weak, my lady. You need to sleep. To rest,"

That is the last thing I mean to do. The moonlight glimmered pale upon the stump where Jaime had rested her head. The moss covered it so thickly she had not noticed before, but now she saw that the wood was white. It made her think of Winterfell, and Ned Stark's heart tree. But the stump was dead and so was Stark and so were all the others, Ser Arthur, Rhaella, Elia and the children, Ashara, Stannis. And Aerys. Aerys is most dead of all. Yet they had all appeared before her, faces hard, accusing. Then her children had joined them, as pale and dead as the rest of them, and judged her twice as much. But Brien had been there, Brien had been beside her, even as all the other lights went out...

"Walton," Jaime ran her fingers through her hair. "Saddle the horses. I want to go back,"

"Back?" Steelshanks regarded her dubiously. He thinks I've gone mad. And perhaps I have. 

"I left something at Harrenhal,"

"Lord Vargo holds it now. Him and his Bloody Mummers,"

"You have twice the men he does,"

"If I don't serve you up to your father as commanded, Lord Bolton will have my hide. We press on to King's Landing," Once Jaime might have countered with a smile and a threat, or perhaps a touch on the arm and a laden look, but mutilated women alone in the dark do not inspire much fear, and she truly did not have it in her to flirt. She wondered what her brother would do. Tyrion, not Cersen. 

"Lannisters lie, Steelshanks. Didn't Lord Bolton tell you that?" She raised an eyebrow. "Unless you take me back to Harrenhal, the song I sing my father may not be one the Lord of the Dreadfort would wish to hear. I might even say it was Bolton who ordered my mutilation, and Steelshanks Walton who swung the blade,"

"That isn't so," Walton gaped at her.

"No, but who will my father believe?" Jaime made her eyes widen and fill with tears, and spoke in a tremulous voice. "That one - that - that man. Walton, he - he held me down... tore my dress, there was a knife... I begged and screamed, but he - I couldn't - " She looked up to Walton's expression of horror, and made herself smile, the way she used to smile when nothing in the world could frighten her, her tears gone in an instant. "It will be so much easier if we just go back. We'd be on our way again soon enough, and I'd sing such a sweet song in King's Landing you'll never believe your ears. You'd get the girl, and a nice fat purse of gold as thanks,"

"Gold?" Walton liked that well enough. "How much gold?" I have him. 

"Why, how much would you want?"

And by the time the sun came up, they were halfway back to Harrenhal. Jaime tried not to feel too smug at Pia's outpourings of mixed awe and amusement at the whole conversation. The idea of standing up to an armed man like Walton seemed alien to the girl, just as the idea of quiet ladylike stoicism had seemed alien to Jaime when Elia had talked of her husband's transgressions. 

It was midday before they reached the castle. Beneath a darkening sky that threatened rain, the immense walls and five great towers stood black and ominous. It looks so dead. The walls were empty, the gates barred. But high above the barbican, a single banner hung limp, the black goat of Qohor. Jaime cupped her hands to shout. 

"You in there! Open your gates, or I'll knock them down!"

It was not until Qyburn and Steelshanks added their voices that a head finally appeared on the battlements above them. A short time later, they heard the portcullis being drawn upward. The gates swung open, and Jaime spurred her horse through the walls. It seemed as if the Brave Companions still thought of them as allies. Fools.

The outer ward was deserted. Jaime reined up and looked about, hearing sounds from somewhere, and men shouting in half a dozen tongues. Steelshanks and Qyburn rode up on either side. 

"Get what you came back for, and we'll be gone again," Walton said. "I want no trouble with the Mummers,"

"Tell your men to keep their hands on their sword hilts, and the Mummers will want no trouble with you. Two to one, remember?" Jaime's head jerked round at the sound of a distant roar, echoing off the walls. All of a sudden, she knew what was happening. Have we come too late? Her stomach did a lurch, and she slammed her heels into her horse, galloping across the outer ward.

They had him in the bear pit.

It was ten yards across and five yards deep, walled in stone and encircled by six tiers of marble benches. The Brave Companions filled only a quarter of the seats, Jaime saw as she swung down clumsily from her horse.

Brien wore the same clothes he'd worn to supper with Roose Bolton. No shield, no breastplate, no chainmail, not even boiled leather, only wool. Half his tunic was hanging off in tatters, and his left arm dripped blood where the bear had raked him.

At least they gave him a sword. The boy held it one-handed, moving sideways, trying to put some distance between himself and the bear. That's no good, the ring's too small. He needed to attack, to make a quick end to it before he grew too tired. But the boy seemed afraid to close. The Mummers showered him with insults and obscene suggestions.

"This is none of our concern," Steelshanks warned Jaime. "Lord Bolton said the lad was theirs, to do with as they liked,"

"His name is Brien," Jaime descended the steps, past a dozen startled sellswords. Vargo Hoat had taken the lord's box in the lowest tier. "Lord Vargo," She called over the shouts.

"Kingthlayer?" The Qohorik almost spilt his wine. The left side of his face was bandaged clumsily, the linen over his ear spotted with blood.

"Pull him out of there,"

"Thay out of thith, Kingthlayer, unleth you dethire another raping," He waved a wine cup, to crude shouts of approval from the men that heard. "Your mooth bit oth my ear. Thmall wonder hith father will not ranthom thuch a thavage,"

A roar turned Jaime back around before she could laugh in Hoat's face. The bear was eight feet tall. Gregor Clegane with a pelt, though likely smarter. Bellowing in fury, the beast showed a mouth full of great yellow teeth, then fell back to all fours and went straight at Brien. There's your chance. Strike! Now!

Instead, he poked out ineffectually with the point of his blade. The bear recoiled, then came on, rumbling. Brien slid to his left and poked again at the bear's face. This time he lifted a paw to swat the sword aside. He's wary, Jaime realised. He's gone up against other men. He knows swords and spears can hurt him. But that won't keep him off him long. 

"Kill him!" She shouted, but her voice was lost amongst all the others. Brien moved around the pit, keeping the wall at his back. Too close. If the bear pins him by the wall...

The beast turned clumsily, too far and too fast. Quick as a cat, Brien changed direction. There's the knight I remember. He leapt in to land a cut across the bear's back. Roaring, the beast went up on his hind legs again. Brien scrambled back away. Where's the blood? Then suddenly she understood. Jaime rounded on Hoat. 

"You gave him a tourney sword,"

"Of courth," The goat brayed laughter, spraying her with wine and spittle.

"I'll pay his bloody ransom," She wiped her face furiously. "Gold, sapphires, whatever you want. Pull him out of there,"

"You want him? Go get him,"

So she did.

Jaime put her hand on the rail and vaulted over, rolling as she hit the sand and trying not to scream in pain as her wound stretched, or get tangled up in her dress. The bear turned at the thump, sniffing, watching this new intruder warily. She scrambled to one knee. Well, what in seven hells do I do now? She filled her fist with sand. 

"Kingslayer?" Brien was astonished.

"Jaime," She flung the sand at the bear's face. The bear mauled the air and roared.

"What are you doing here?"

"Something stupid. Get behind me," She circled toward him, putting herself in the middle. It must have looked absurd, the skinny woman in a fine silken gown stood between the huge knight and the bear.

"You get behind. I have the sword,"

"A sword with no point and no edge. Get behind me!" 

"I'm three times your size!" She ignored his protests, seeing something half-buried in the sand, and snatched it up. It proved to be a human jawbone, with some greenish flesh still clinging to it, crawling with maggots. Charming, she thought, wondering whose face she held. The bear was edging closer, so Jaime whipped her arm around and flung bone, meat, and maggots at the beast's head, her chest burning at the movement. She missed by a good yard, thrown off by the pain. Might as well have lost my right hand for all the good I can do now.

Brien tried to dart around her, but she tripped him. He fell in the sand, clutching the useless sword as he rolled onto his back with a groan, and Jaime threw herself over him, onto his chest, as the bear came charging.

There was a twang, and a bolt sprouted suddenly beneath the beast's left eye. Blood and slaver ran from his open mouth, and another bolt took him in the leg. The bear roared, and reared. He saw Jaime and Brien again and lumbered toward them. More crossbows fired. At such short range, the bowmen could hardly miss. The shafts hit as hard as maces, but the bear took another step. The poor dumb brave brute. Jaime felt an odd stab of sympathy. The bear took another two quarrels in the back, gave one last rumbling growl, stretched out on the bloodstained sand, and died.

Brien's arms had wrapped tight around her at some point, where she lay on his chest. As the bear fell, the knight seemed to notice this for the first time, though was too distracted by his brush with death to even blush, simply sitting up, staring dumbly. Realising she was all but sat in his lap at this point, Jaime shrugged his arms off her and staggered to her feet, shaking sand out of her hair. Steelshanks's archers were winding their crossbows and reloading while the Bloody Mummers shouted curses and threats at them. Some had their swords out.

"You thlew my bear!" Vargo Hoat shrieked.

"And I'll serve you the same if you give me trouble," Steelshanks threw back. "We're taking the knight,"

"You'll have your ransom," Jaime said to Hoat. "For both of us. A Lannister pays their debts. Now fetch some ropes and get us out of here,"

"Bugger that," Rorge growled. "Kill them, Hoat. Or you'll bloody well wish you had!" Hoat hesitated. Half his men were drunk, the northmen stone sober, and there were twice as many of them, crossbows loaded. 

"Pull them out," Hoat said, and turned to Jaime. "I hath chothen to be merthiful. Tell your lord father,"

"I will, my lord," Not that it will do you any good.

Not until they were half a league from Harrenhal and out of range of archers on the walls did Steelshanks Walton let his anger show. 

"Are you mad, Kingslayer? Did you mean to die? No man can fight a bear with his bare hands, let alone a woman, let alone one your size, and badly injured!"

"I hoped you'd kill the beast before the beast killed me," Jaime laughed. "Elsewise, Lord Bolton would have peeled you like an orange, no?" Steelshanks cursed her roundly for a fool of woman, spurred his horse, and galloped away up the column.

"Lady Jaime?" Even in soiled yellow wool, Jaime couldn't help notice Brien had never looked more like a knight. "I am grateful, but... you were well away. Why come back?" A dozen quips came to mind, each crueler than the one before, but she only shrugged. 

"I dreamed of you,"

*

Thanks for every read, vote and comment! They are very much appreciated and definitely inspire me to keep writing. What are your thoughts on the story so far? I love hearing them