An east wind blew through her tangled hair, as soft as her daughter's fingers. After so long in that foul dungeon, being outside was almost painfully sweet, so much so that Jaime suddenly laughed. 

"Quiet," The boy snapped. Scowls suited his homely face better than a smile. Not that Jaime had ever seen him smiling. She couldn't help but notice that, ugly and dour as he was, he could row, the huge muscles of his arms stretching and tightening with each stroke of the oars. 

A big strong peasant lad to look at him, yet he speaks like one highborn and wears longsword and dagger. Ah, but can he use them? She meant to find out, as soon as she rid herself of her chains.

She wore iron manacles on her wrists but thankfully no matching pair on her ankles. Hopefully that would prove to be an oversight on their part. "You'd think my word as a Lannister was not good enough," Jaime had japed as they bound her. She'd been very drunk by then, and recalled only bits and pieces of their escape from Riverrun, much of it involving laughing like a fool and hanging off of Catelyn Stark's arm as they stumbled through dark corridors.

Her legs were weak after months underground, and the boy had lent her an arm to lean on after Lady Catelyn grew weary of her when climbing a long stair. At some point, she was bundled into a hooded traveler's cloak and shoved into the bottom of a boat. 

Jaime must have drifted off then, the wine having made her sleepy. Tyrion is going to laugh himself sick when he hears how I slept through my own escape, Arthur and my daughters along with him. She was awake now, though, and the manacles were irritating. 

"Ser, if you'll strike off these chains, I'll spell you at those oars,"

"You'll wear your chains, Kingslayer," He glowered suspiciously with his horse-toothed face.

"You figure to row all the way to King's Landing, boy?"

"You will call me Brien. Not boy." Oh, will I now?

"My name is Lady Jaime. Not Kingslayer,"

"Do you deny that you slew a king?"

"No. Do you deny your sex? If so, unlace those breeches and show me," She gave him a laden smile. "Great big lad like you, there should be evidence enough. Are you afraid to have me unbound? Me, a gently-bred woman who's spent the last year rotting in a dungeon. Look, my arms have wasted to twigs, my legs are too weak to run and I'm thinner than that fat neck of yours," To emphasise the point, she lifted her ragged skirts slightly and waved her leg at him.

"Cousin, remember your courtesies," Ser Cleos admonished nervously. The Lannister blood runs thin in this one. Lady Stark had promised her cousin his freedom if he delivered her message to Tyrion and Cersen, and her cousin had solemnly vowed to do so.

They'd all done a lot of vowing back in that cell, Jaime most of all. Lady Catelyn had laid the point of the big lad's sword against her heart and made her swear to return her daughters, pricking her skin through her rags. I wonder what the High Septon would have to say about the sanctity of oaths sworn while dead drunk, chained to a wall, with a sword pressed to your chest? Not that Jaime was truly concerned about that fat fraud, or the gods he claimed to serve. A strange woman, Lady Catelyn, to trust her girls to a woman she saw as a whore with shit for honour. 

"Perhaps she is not so stupid after all,"

"I am not stupid. Nor deaf," Brien wrongly took offence. 

"I was speaking to myself, and not of you. It's an easy habit to slip into in a cell," Jaime was gentle with him; mocking this one would be so easy there would be no sport to it. He frowned at her, saying nothing. As glib of tongue as he is fair of face. "By your speech, I'd judge you nobly born,"

"My father is Selwyn of Tarth, by the grace of the gods Lord of Evenfall," Even that was given grudgingly.

"Tarth," Jaime said. "A ghastly large rock in the narrow sea, as I recall. And Evenfall is sworn to Storm's End. How is it that you serve Robb of Winterfell?"

"It is Lady Catelyn I serve. And she commanded me to deliver you safe to your brother Tyrion at King's Landing, not to bandy words with you. Be silent,"

"I've had a bellyful of silence, boy," And a bellyful of men like you telling me to shut my mouth.

"Talk with Ser Cleos then. I have no words for monsters," At that, she gasped dramatically, slapping her hand to her forehead in her best impression of a fainting court lady.

"Are there monsters hereabouts?" Jaime started to laugh. "Hiding beneath the water, perhaps? In that thick of willows? Oh, ser knight, you must protect me!" He scowled again. 

"A woman who would lay with her own brother, murder the king she was a ward of through trickery, kill her husband and allow an innocent child to be flung to his death deserves no other name," 

"You can't be much older than my son Joffrey." Jaime grinned, even though she generally disliked reminding herself that Joffrey her son. "But even my six year old daughters can hold a more interesting conversation," Although he hadn't called her a whore yet, which was something. "Are you lackwitted, is that it?"

"Cousin Jaime, please, you ought not speak so roughly," Cleos said. "We have far to go, we should not quarrel amongst ourselves,"

"When I quarrel you'll know about it, coz. I was speaking to the knight. Tell me, boy, are all the men on Tarth as ugly as you? I pity the women, if so. Perhaps they do not know what real men look like, living on a dreary mountain in the sea,"

"Tarth is beautiful," The boy grunted. "The Sapphire Isle, it's called. Be quiet, monster, unless you mean to make me gag you,"

"He's rude as well, isn't he, coz?" Jaime raised an eyebrow at Cleos, who coughed nervously. 

"Ser Brien had those lies from Catelyn Stark, no doubt. The Starks cannot hope to defeat us with swords, my lady, so now they make war with poisoned words,"

They did defeat Daven and I with swords, you chinless cretin. Jaime smiled knowingly. Men would read all sorts of things into a knowing smile, if you let them. She sat back on her bench, brushing her long, wild hair out of her face yet again, and turned back to Cleos.

"Cousin, lend me your knife,"

"No," The boy tensed. "I will not have you armed." His voice was unyielding. He's wary of me, even weak and in irons. That was a shame, if rather satisfying. Jaime was used to men underestimating her. A mistake they soon learn to regret. 

"Cleos, it seems I must ask you to cut my hair. Leave it down to the chin, but take the rest. The realm knows Jaime Lannister as a highborn lady with long, shining golden curls. A filthy, short-haired woman in rags may pass unnoticed. I'd sooner not be recognised. The two of you are hardly a formidable force,"

The dagger was not as sharp as it might have been. Cleos hacked away, sawing his way through her hair and tossing the offcuts over the side. The golden curls floated on the surface of the river, and were soon swept away.

The reflection Jaime saw in the water was a woman she did not know. Not only was her hair now short, but she looked as though she had aged five years in that dungeon; her face was thinner, with hollows under her eyes and lines she did not remember. I don't look as much like Cersen this way. He'll hate that. Another thing for her brother to lecture her on upon her return, along with ensuring Princess Cassana's safety and getting herself captured. 

"Smoke," Cleos said some time after midday, squinting at the river bank. Below it, Jaime made out the smouldering remains of a large building, and a live oak full of dead women.

"This was not chivalrously done," Brien said when they were close enough to see clearly. "No true knight would condone such wanton butchery,"

"True knights see worse every time they ride to war, boy," Jaime said. "And do worse," 

"I'll leave no innocents to be food for crows," Brien steered toward the shore.

"Don't be heartless. Crows need to eat as well. Stay to the river and leave the dead alone," She was ignored, of course.

They landed at the bank, and as Brien lowered the sail, Jaime climbed out, clumsy in her chains and filthy dress, the river immediately filling her boots and soaking through the ragged skirts. She dropped unceremoniously to her knees, ducked her head under the water, and came up dripping. Her hands were filthy with layers of dirt, so she rubbed them clean, only to find them thinner and paler than she remembered. Her legs were stiff and unsteady as well. I was too bloody long in Hoster Tully's dungeon.

"One of us will need to cut them down," The boy looked up at the corpses.

"I'll climb," Jaime waded ashore, clanking. "Just get these chains off," She followed his stare to one of the dead women, and smiled humourlessly at the crude sign hung around her neck. "They Lay With Lions. Oh, yes, boy, this was most unchivalrously done... But by your side, not mine. I wonder who they were, these women?"

"Tavern wenches," Cleos said. "This was an inn, I remember it now. Some men of my escort spent the night here when we last returned to Riverrun," 

"The girls pleasured some of my lord father's soldiers, it would seem," Her smile faded somewhat, and Jaime was suddenly very glad that her daughters were highborn. "Perhaps served them food and drink. That's how they earned their traitors' collars, with a kiss and a cup of ale," She glanced up and down the river, to make certain they were quite alone. "This is Bracken land. Lord Jonos might have ordered them killed. My father burned his castle,"

"It might be Marq Piper's work," Cleos said. "Or Beric Dondarrion, though I'd heard he kills only soldiers. Perhaps a band of Roose Bolton's northmen?"

"Bolton was defeated by my father on the Green Fork,"

"But not broken," Cleos said. "He came south again when Lord Tywin marched against the fords. The word at Riverrun was that he'd taken Harrenhal from Ser Amory Lorch," Jaime didn't like the sound of that. 

"Brien," She granted him the courtesy of his name in the hope he might listen. "If Lord Bolton holds Harrenhal, both the Trident and the kingsroad are likely watched," She thought she saw a touch of uncertainty in his big blue eyes. 

"You are under my protection. They'd need to kill me,"

"I shouldn't think that would trouble them," She fought the urge to mimic Helia's favourite expression and roll her eyes.

"I am a better fighter than many," He said defensively. "I was one of King Renly's chosen seven. With his own hands, he cloaked me with the striped silk of the Rainbow Guard,"

"The Rainbow Guard? You and six other girls, was it?" She grinned. Gods, it's too easy. "A singer once said that all knights are handsome in steel plate... But he never met you, did he? Perhaps he meant all knights are handsome wearing a helm," Brien turned red, to her satisfaction.  

"We have graves to dig," Surprisingly nimble, he climbed the tree and, dagger in hand, began to cut down the corpses. Flies swarmed around the bodies as they fell, and the stench grew worse with each one. Jaime noticed that many of their dresses looked to be in better condition than her own, though she wasn't so desperate as to consider looting one.

"This is a deal of trouble to take for whores," Cleos complained. Why, I'd hope you'd take time to bury me, cousin, if you found me hanged in a tree. "What are we supposed to dig with? We have no spades, and I will not use my sword, I - "

"To the boat," Brien shouted suddenly, jumping down rather than climbing. "Be quick. There's a sail," They hastened to the skiff, though Jaime could hardly run on her wobbly legs, and had to be half-carried back into the boat by her cousin. Brien shoved off with an oar and raised the sail hurriedly. "Ser Cleos, I'll need you to row as well," Cleos did as he bid. Jaime sat chained, peering upriver. Only the top of the other sail was visible, but it was clearly in Tully colours. 

"We can hope the noble Tullys will stop to bury the dead whores, I suppose," Brien glared at her for that, but she ignored him. 

For the good part of an hour they played peek-and-seek with the pursuers, sweeping around bends and between small wooded isles. Just when they were starting to hope that somehow they might have outrun them, the sail became visible again.

"That is a river galley coming after us," Jaime announced after she'd watched for a while. With every stroke, it seemed to grow larger. "Nine oars on each side, which means eighteen men. More, if they crowded on fighters as well as rowers. And larger sails than ours. We cannot outrun her,"

"Eighteen, you said?" Cleos froze.

"Six for each of us. I'd want eight, but these bracelets hinder me somewhat," Jaime held up her wrists. "Unless Ser Brien would be so kind as to unshackle me?" She smiled but he ignored her. "We had half a night's start on them. They've been rowing since dawn, resting two oars at a time. They'll be exhausted. Just now the sight of our sail has given them a burst of strength, but that will not last. We ought to be able to kill a good many of them,"

"But... There are eighteen," Cleos gaped at her.

"At the least. More likely twenty or twenty-five,"

"We can't hope to defeat eighteen," Her cousin groaned.

"Did I say we could? The best we can hope for is to die with swords in our hands," She was perfectly sincere. Of course, she would have preferred to return safe and sound to King's Landing to see her children again, but given the circumstances - either die here, fighting, or die rotting in a dungeon, as Stark would never ransom her back - she knew which option she preferred.

Cleos stared at her like she was mad, but Jaime was used to that look.

"You are under my protection," Brien grimaced, his voice so thick with anger that it was almost a growl. She had to laugh. 

"Then protect me, boy, and I'll play your sweet damsel in distress. Or free me so I can protect myself,"

The galley was gaining visibly, the men on her deck crowding forward as she came closer, armed with swords and bows. At the prow stood a stocky man with a bald head, bushy grey eyebrows, and brawny arms. Robin Ryger. She remembered Riverrun's captain of guards tackling her to the ground himself during her first ill-fated escape attempt.

"Come to wish me godspeed, Ser Robin?" Jaime cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted over the water

"Come to take you back, Lady Jaime," Ryger bellowed. "How is it that you've turned your golden hair into a ruin?"

"I've woven the rest into a garrotte. I hope to use it on you," The man was unamused. 

"Throw your oars and your weapons into the river, and no one need be harmed," The distance between them had shrunk to forty yards. Cleos twisted around. 

"Jaime, tell him we were freed by Lady Catelyn... An exchange of captives, lawful..." Jaime told him, for all the good it did. 

"Catelyn Stark does not rule in Riverrun," Ryger shouted back. Four archers moved into position on either side of him. "Cast your swords into the water,"

"I have no sword," She returned. "But if I did, I'd stick it through your belly and hack the balls off those four cravens," A flight of arrows answered her. One thudded into the mast, two pierced the sail, and the fourth missed Jaime by a foot. So much for unharmed...

Another of the Red Fork's loops loomed before them. Brien angled the skiff across the bend. Ahead a large island sat in the middle of the river; the main channel flowed right, whilst to the left a cutoff ran between the island and the high, rocky banks of the north shore. Brien steered them left, whilst Jaime watched his eyes. Pretty eyes, she thought, and calm. She knew how to read a man's eyes, and knew what fear looked like. He is determined, not desperate. Thirty yards behind, the galley was entering the bend. 

"Ser Cleos, take the tiller," The boy commanded. "Kingslayer, take an oar and keep us off the rocks,"

"As my brave knight commands," An oar was not a sword, but the blade would surely break a man's face if swung well. Cleos shoved the oar into Jaime's hand and scrambled over. They crossed the head of the island and turned sharply down the cutoff, hidden from the galley's view between the green wall of the trees and the stony bank. A few moments' respite from the arrows.

The skiff rocked. She heard a splash, and when she glanced around, Brien was gone. A moment later she saw him again, pulling himself from the water at the base of the bank. He waded through a shallow pool, scrambled over some rocks, and began to climb. Ser Cleos goggled, mouth open. Fool. 

"Ignore the boy," Jaime snapped. "Steer,"

The river galley came into full view at the top of the cutoff, twenty-five yards behind. Half-dozen arrows took flight, but all went well wide. The motion of the two boats was giving the archers difficulty, but they'd soon enough learn to compensate. Brien was halfway up the cliff face of the bank. Ryger's sure to see him, and once he does he'll have those bowmen bring him down. Jaime decided to see if the old man's pride would make him stupid. 

"Ser Robin," She shouted. "Hear me for a moment," Ryger raised a hand, and the archers lowered their bows. 

"Say what you will, Kingslayer, but say it quickly,"

"I know a better way to settle this—single combat. You and I,"

"I will not fight a woman, Lannister, and a woman is what you are, no matter how many you've killed,"

"Are you afraid to lose?" Jaime raised her hands so he could see the manacles. "I'll even fight you in chains. What could you fear?"

"Not you, my lady. I'm sure you deserve to have some of that pride knocked out of you, but I am commanded to bring you back alive, unharmed if possible. Bowmen. Notch. Draw Loo - "

The range was less than twenty yards, they could scarcely have missed, but as they pulled on their longbows, a boulder the size of a cow detached itself from the top of the bank. The stone tumbled through the air and smashed down on them, snapping the mast, tearing through the sail and sending two of the archers flying into the river. The speed with which the galley began to fill with water suggested that it had punched right through her hull. Screams echoed off the banks while the archers flailed wildly in the current; it didn't look like either man could swim. Jaime watched and laughed.

By the time they emerged from the cutoff, the galley was foundering, and she had decided that the gods were good. Ser Robin and his archers would have a long wet walk back to Riverrun, and she was rid of the big homely knight as well. I could not have planned it better myself.

Ser Cleos shouted. When Jaime looked up, Brien was lumbering along the clifftop, well ahead of them, having cut across a finger of land while they were following the bend in the river. He threw himself off the rock, and looked almost graceful as he folded into a dive. It would have been ungracious to hope that he would smash his head on a stone. Cleos turned the skiff toward him, but thankfully Jaime still had her oar. One good swing when he comes paddling up and I'll be free of him.

Instead she found herself stretching the oar out for Brien to grab hold, and she pulled him in with not-inconsiderable difficulty, their boat rocking from his weight. She nearly toppled into the water herself at one point - gods he was heavy, he had to be near as large as the Hound, and even worse looking - and ended up sodden anyway, as water poured off him. His face is even uglier wet. 

"You're a bloody stupid fool," She told him, wringing out her skirts. "We could have sailed on without you. I suppose you expect me to thank you?"

"I want none of your thanks, Kingslayer. I swore an oath to bring you safe to King's Landing,"

"And you actually mean to keep it?" Jaime gave him her brightest smile, shaking out her wet hair. "Now there's a wonder," All the things she'd said to him that day, and that remark was the only one to make him blush.

*

There's very little different here from the original plot-wise, though I hope I managed to convey the differences with female Jaime, in her personality and the way others treat her. This whole story is written simply because I find the idea interesting myself; if it's just becoming a boring reread of ASOS, please let me know. 

Any passages from A Storm of Swords are the work of GRRM, not mine. 

What do you think of Ser Brien? He hasn't got quite the same hangups as Brienne, given that a large, muscular body is admired in men, but his face is very ugly nonetheless, and he's rather awkward and naive still. 

Thanks for reading!